by Bellus, HJ
I can read between the lines of what Opal isn’t saying. This person is safe and will treat me with nothing but respect.
Truckee pipes up. “Don’t let her shit you. She’s getting her hair done, too.”
Opal glares at him and then squeaks out a shy smile. “So, since she’s here, I figured she could touch up my roots.”
I throw my hood back and finger my hair. “You mean something is wrong with my hair?”
There’s silence then Truckee answers. “Yeah, it looks like Edward Scissorhands’ dull ass blades got hold of you. It looks like shit.”
“Jesus, Truckee.” Opal rounds on him. He doesn’t move, chomping down on an Oreo from his stockpile and holds his arms wide open.
All three of us dive into the birthday cake. I’m certain I ate half of it and then I showered and walked out to Truckee’s truck. I didn’t think about or allow doubts to creep in. It’s my birthday, I have hope, the sun is shining, and I’m surrounded by friends. That’s the exact reason I hop in without a second thought.
This time I don’t study the town I knew as home. There’s no reason to glimpse at the familiar sights as we head into town. The reality is this is no longer my home. I don’t need this place and I also don’t need to hide from it.
I keep my chin high through fake bravado as we enter the salon. I don’t glance to see who's in this place. It’s the same shop where my grandma had her hair done every week. I follow Opal and sit right in the chair. Opal picks up on my nerves and does all the talking. I remain quiet as Robin leans me back, wets my hair, and washes it. I still don’t say a word as she begins combing it and looking side to side.
“This is your last chance.” She grins. “Now or never.”
I twist my lips and don’t think about it for too long. “Go for it.”
And she does. Opal and Robin begin chatting about everything under the sun from the weather, to old memories, and new fashion styles. I get lost in all of it. I glance out the front glass window to see Truckee sitting on the bench. He hasn’t moved an inch. I stifle laughter when I remember him saying he’d rather stick his dick in a meat grinder than enter a salon of any kind.
I’m left in shock when Robin is done doing whatever she did to my hair. It easily tucks behind my ear and the long locks on top spike and swirl up into the perfect picture. She teaches me how to do it and hands me the products to get it done. It looks damn good and very stylish. I’m left in awe and wander to a chair next to the station while Opal continues chatting up Robin while getting her hair done. I’m left to wonder if I do have a chance to live a life. These people surrounding me sure make me believe that I do. I get lost, relaxing back in the chair until Opal stands, fluffs her hair, and smiles.
“You ready?” she asks.
“Yeah, how much do we owe her?” I ask, fumbling in my purse, knowing I have over two hundred dollars in there. I’d earned those bills years ago and never spent them.
“It’s taken care of.” Opal waves me off and I don’t have a chance to argue with her as she hugs Robin and waltzes to the door, ignoring all of the evil stares.
“Yep, we got this.” Robin smiles.
I shrug and let loose of the bills clutched in my fingers and follow Opal out the door. The sun warms my face right down to my toes as we approach Truckee on the bench.
“About damn time.” He stands up. “I thought my balls were about to shrink the hell up.”
“Don’t worry.” Opal pats Truckee on the chest. “Ball shrinkage might do you some good.”
We all laugh and walk toward the truck. A voice stops me.
“Keep walking.”
I look up to see Veronica in her typical blitzed out gear, holding her husband back.
“I will not keep walking. This is bullshit. They are making me out to be the bad person here.”
“You were charged with assault against an officer and that’s on video. The other was dropped.” She pulls him down to whisper in one ear or tries to do her best. “Keep walking. You know what happened.”
The thing in this situation, the variable in this whole equation, is Truckee. He doesn’t stop walking and rounds the front of his truck until he’s an arm’s length away from the couple.
“She’s a little whore and a lying bitch,” Les spouts.
There’s no whisper. He damn near hollers it, knowing damn well what he’s doing. I don’t even get the chance to shrink back or brace a panic attack as Truckee whirls around and connects with Les’s jaw. The old man tumbles down to the sidewalk. Truckee doesn’t stop until he’s pulled back by a cop.
During the entire time I remain frozen in place, loving the fact that justice was finally being served. I have no idea how long it takes for the law of this town to get here. I’m enamored by the fact Truckee let it all go.
“Get out of here,” Dalton hisses to Opal.
“But…”
“I got him.” Dalton braces up. “Go! Get her home and safe.”
I don’t miss the certainty lacing each of his words. Dalton’s deputy cuffs Truckee doing his best to push his huge body against the squad truck. I don’t miss the pushing and shoving Truckee does on his end acting like he stumbled.
The last scene is ingrained in my memory. Les is slammed to the side of Dalton’s truck. His cheek is pressed against the glass as Dalton shoves and elbows him every chance he gets.
It’s time. Past time.
Chapter Twenty
Frankie
That face. I hate him. The color of his eyes are nothing but evil. The memories fight to invade and I do my best to keep them at bay on the drive home, concentrating on my breathing. It doesn’t work.
Not even Opal chewing Truckee’s ass for nearly getting arrested could get past this attack, even though cuss words and Truckee’s banter is on spot.
I fly from the cab of the truck and race into my room with my skin crawling, and that familiar craving to make it stop overwhelms me. I rake fingernails up the inside of my arm, drawing the first blood. The sight of it makes me feel at home yet I want so much more. Breathing, blood, oxygen, pounding heart doesn’t seem to stop any of it.
The urge to scream until my vocal cords tear and shred taunt me. I’m not ready to be heard yet and don’t know if I ever will be. The taste of true living has dabbled on the tip of my tongue, yet I stand here, confused as hell. I’m happy and scared. Blood drips down my arm, reminding me of the itch of my skin. I dig once again in the healing yet fresh wounds. It’s in that moment I spot my sneakers, dangling on the shoe rack.
I jam my feet in them, even though they are a size or two too small. Out of reflex, I grab my hair to tie it back or at least braid it only to be reminded it’s gone. He took it. And that fucker in the grocery store and on the sidewalk today watched him take it over and over. Les Monroe walked in one time on the Pastor “counseling” me before church and never left. He made damn sure to be there every single time, watching, and pleasuring himself, but never touching and always telling me how horrible I was.
It’s all too much and that’s when I bolt from the door in my bedroom. I don’t give a shit who sees me or judges me. Honestly, I’m broken like hell and not giving a shit.
“What’s up?” Opal’s puzzled question strikes a chord in my barely beating heart. It defeats me but I continue on. I don’t let the guilt of my birthday seep in.
“The fuck?” Truckee barks.
But I don’t stop. Once my tight sneakers hit the pavement I run. I allow my strides to lengthen as they crunch on the man-made earth. Forcing myself to go faster as I pass familiar neighborhood houses. I don’t think. I just run. Everything bleeds into one murky pool of color until I don’t know who I am and that’s the most freeing feeling.
Thundering footsteps echo each one of mine. I’m not afraid. Nothing can touch me or hurt my life. I’m not afraid of anything and that’s only because nothing else can be taken away from me. I see it’s just Truckee tailing me and he doesn’t look happy at all. He looks ready to throttl
e me yet I don’t let the fear seep in. He’s here for me and it’s foreign as hell.
I keep on going until I reach the city limits and continue on until the sun kisses the landscape. And that’s only when I turn around to head home. I let the true beauty God created guide me. The miracle of nature soothes me and allows me to feel the burn in my chest, the ripping in my calves, and the torture in my lungs. But I’m feeling something other than guilt and that’s the only thing that matters.
It’s dark when I jog up my driveway. The patio light calls me home and the burned ash smell welcomes me. I stop with my palms resting on my kneecaps as I struggle to catch my breath.
“Hell, Frankie, you went fucking straight ham on that shit.”
I glance back to see Truckee in a similar stance but struggling and fighting to get all of his wheezing out.
“My fucking little brother damn near arrested me and you go and kick my ass.”
I smile then laugh, not worrying about who sees it or even why I’m finding this moment comical.
“Fucking straight ham?” I ask.
“Yeah, Jesus.” He rolls onto the grass, clutching his chest and wincing at the same time. “I’m certain I threw my back out and need a hip replacement. You held nothing back.”
I smirk and wink at him, making sure he catches every action. “I never invited you. Oh, and I can see you haven’t paid a lick of attention to your cardio health over the years. Might want to brush up on that.”
“Give you a damn crumb and you make a fucking loaf,” he grumbles, rolling onto his side and struggling to stand up.
I don’t even try to piece together his fortune cookie mystery statement. He knew damn well what I just threw back in his face. Once I open the door leading into the kitchen, I don’t miss his next words.
“You have to tell us. Cray is doing everything to save you.”
I pause and turn to look at him. “Let Pokey out. He’ll lead you to the place.”
Everything else happens in a trance. I walk into the house, take a shower, and then open my journal. The pen flows across the pages. I let everything out from naming Les Monroe right to the exact place I buried the body.
There’s a large red rock placed on the center. I stabbed him until he was dead and then continued until I nearly passed out. Pastor Chapman molested and raped me through my childhood and when he killed my grandma it was the final straw. He poisoned her. I took the power back and for that I’ll never say sorry. Les Monroe walked in one time while the pastor was counseling me. He didn’t say a word or stop him. He pleasured himself and made sure he was there every single time for the show.
He’s dead and buried with no remorse right where he should be.
Love,
Frankie;
PS-It’s not the beginning or the end of me. It’s just is. And I’m okay with that.
As soon as the pen falls from my hand so do my eyelids. Sleep. Nothing but sweet darkness consumes me. I have no idea how long it overtakes me, but what I do know is when I wake up my stomach protests with hunger. I peer around my dark room with only the moonlight shining through the slice of curtains.
I tug my hoodie up over my crazy bed head. Short hair and bed head don’t go hand in hand. Just by the feel of it I can tell it’s standing on end. The inside of my sweatshirt tugs on the dried scabs on my arms, reminding me of how close I was to losing control. Then the exhilaration of the run fuels my endorphins. It felt good to just get out, not worry, and push my body to its limits.
I creep down the hallway knowing the path well even in the darkness. The door to the guest room where Opal and Truckee sleep is cracked open. The scent of dinner still lingers throughout the house. I have no idea what Opal cooked. Our shopping trips are now a massive blur. I had every intention of helping her prepare the meal. Opal is easy to talk to and be around.
The light from the refrigerator blinds me as I carefully open it. All it does is prolong the squeak of the door which I’m sure is far worse than just swinging it open. I spot a plate with tin foil covering the top and assume it’s mine. I reveal a large dinner plate filled with caesar salad and flatbread pizza with a white sauce. The delicious smells of tomatoes and garlic fill the air, causing my stomach to rumble again. I flip on the light above the sink and don’t bother to heat the pizza as I sit at the table. There’s just enough dull light to find my way around the plate.
I smile at the sight of it, remembering the steak in the cart, having no doubt Opal made it for Truckee. Good for her, after the hell I put the man through on my run.
I forget to savor the flavor as I shovel mouthfuls in one after another. It’s the most amazing meal I’ve ever tasted and am really sad I let the events of the day ruin learning how to make it. A throat clears and I startle in my seat grasping at my chest.
“It’s just me. Sorry, I didn’t want to scare you.” Cray walks into the dim light.
Pretty damn near impossible not to startle someone at four in the morning, from what the time on the stove displays, sitting in silence with barely any light. I relax back in the chair with a full belly, thinking about how I was startled and not scared. I’m not sure if there's anything left in this world to be scared of.
“It’s fine.” I shrug.
He takes a seat next to me. “It’s being taken care of, Frankie. There’s nothing to worry about.”
“I don’t think I can live in this town anymore,” I blurt out. It’s a realization that came out of nowhere.
“We have options.”
Silence drifts between us. I don’t know what else to say.
Dalton is the first to break the silence. “Damn good pizza, eh?”
I nod. “Follow me.”
I stand up, putting my plate in the dishwasher then turn to Dalton on his feet and ready to follow me. I don’t miss the tired lines on his face and also his strong gorgeous features. At first look, anyone would classify the man as handsome, but it’s becoming so much more to me. He’s shown me his heart and what it’s made out of, and that’s the one thing tugging me to him. I roll my lips together struggling like hell to understand my own thoughts.
I let it go for now and walk toward my room. Dalton’s quiet footsteps are right behind me. I’m far from being okay, but just the simple fact I trust this man enough to invite him into my room in the middle of the night speaks for itself. Once Dalton steps into my room I shut the door and make my way over to the lamp sitting on my nightstand and flick it on.
“Here.” I grab my journal and clutch it to my chest. “The answers are here.”
He nods and begins to brush the scruff on his chin.
“It’s what happened and what I did.” I chew on my bottom lip for a bit. The realization of my actions have settled in over the last day or so. Dalton has every right to arrest and charge me with murder. It’s something I have to digest and be ready for even though their words and actions have shown me they won’t.
“Frankie.” He takes a step toward me. His large hand lands on my upper arm. It instantly offers warmth and comfort. He has a magic that makes me feel safe no matter what else is happening or going to hell around me. “I’ve got you. I can’t even begin to understand how hard this is for you and I know trust at this point doesn’t exist in your world and I don’t blame you for that.”
He takes a step back. The loss of his touch devastates me and also confuses the hell out of me. It’s foreign and makes me feel uneasy at the same time, but also cocccons me in safety.
“You might want to sit for this.” He takes a seat on my bed and pats the spot next to him.
I follow, relaxing back on the bed, bringing my legs up to my chest and resting my cheek on them studying his profile.
“Like I said, I understand the trust thing going on here, but I think it would help if you knew the whole story.” He exhales harshly. The weight of his words reflect the emotional torture he’s about to share. “I told you a little bit about my little sister, Saige. The thing is her story has so much more to it.”
“You don’t have to, Cray.” I reach over without thinking and grab his hand. He takes it a step further, lacing our fingers together. The connection is powerful, shocking me right down to my core.
“I need to.” He turns to me, relaxing his back on the headboard. I follow him not wanting to break our connection.
“Thank you for letting me hold you.” His grip on my hand tightens. “This shit is so fucked up, Frankie, and I don’t know how to explain what’s going on in my head and the need to touch you and help you discover how to live again.”
“I know exactly what you mean,” I whisper.
He places a light kiss on the top of my head. “This is going to be an ugly story, but I need to get it off my chest. Frankie, I promise that I’ll never compare the two of you because your stories are yours. What you each went through is unjustifiable and something I can never even begin to process wholly.”
I interrupt his rambling. “I want to hear it. I think it will help both of us or at least aid in putting our minds at rest for now. Just for now.”
“She went through some brutal shit, then was forced to relive her living hell in the court system. It was one of our dad’s friends, Danny, and my damn dad never believed her, even when all the evidence came out at court.”
I grip his forearm that’s wrapped around me and squeeze it, giving Cray the courage to go on.
“I don’t think we ever would’ve found out what the motherfucker was doing to her, but shit hit the fan when Danny’s wife walked in on them. She did the right thing, my mom did the right thing, and Truckee and I were right there by her side. The sheriff in our town at the time was tangled in a battle of power with my dad. He was new in town and tearing up my dad’s turf. Let’s just say it got ugly. The sheriff pushed the case to piss my dad off. Nothing that happened was ever in the best interest of Saige.”
“I’m so sorry, Cray,” I whisper, truly meaning each word. The hurt and grief slicing his vocal cords pulls at my heart.