by Marni Mann
He was so fucking high.
So high that he’d also forgotten that he and Caleb had been texting me since the previous day. They wanted to know if I was all right after the peep show, and to let me know they hadn’t heard anything from Gary—the peeper.
Caleb handed me the blunt he’d been puffing on. After the missed unknown call I’d received while I was at work—the one that left no voicemail—I really wanted this weed. A part of me wondered what Hart would think about that. We hadn’t really discussed whether he smoked or not. Regardless, I filled my lungs and watched Jeremy pull a white rock out of his pocket. He used his knife to shave it into powder. The glass coffee table was already covered in dust from whatever he’d snorted earlier. He used a credit card to scrape up those specks, too.
“Hart fucked him up real good,” Jeremy said, pulling the dollar bill out of his nose and lifting his head from the table. He ran the back of his hand underneath each nostril. When his darting eyes finally found me, I saw how blown his pupils were. I couldn’t see his irises at all, and he had non-stop facial tics. The inside of his nose looked raw, and it only got worse when he snorted another line. “Fucker will be eating through a straw for the next couple months.”
“He’s talking about Gary,” Caleb said.
I blew out a stream of smoke. “I figured.”
Gary was one of the few guys at the house that night who I didn’t really know. He lived a few towns over and only showed up once in a while—usually when Caleb decided to splurge on a keg and hire some strippers from Bangor. I remembered the keg from that night, but I couldn’t recall any strippers. Maybe that was a good thing.
“Fat-ass won’t be coming here no mo’,” Jeremy said.
Caleb took the blunt from my hand and held it up to his lips. “Not just here at this house. That punk won’t be stepping foot in Bar Harbor ever again. We don’t put up with that kinda shit around here. Sent a few of my boys to relay that message to him.” I didn’t ask for any more details. The whole thing made me really uncomfortable. I was just glad it was over.
“Thanks for having my back, guys,” I said.
Jeremy nodded, although it was more like a drugged-out double-bob. He’d slid off the couch and was kneeling on the wood floor, running his fingers up and down the sticky panels. His shoulders swayed to a silent beat.
The doorbell rang. Caleb gave the blunt back to me and got up to answer it.
“Do you hear that?” Jeremy asked.
I coughed out the smoke. “Hear what?”
“That noise. It’s a siren. A cop siren.” He scurried over to the front window, hiding under the ledge with only the top of his head peeking out. It was covered with a long set of blinds and curtains on both sides. I imagined Caleb’s parents had put those up when they’d lived there, and somehow they had survived all the chaos that had erupted. Jeremy lifted one of the slats, lowering his ass, bending his knees and extending his hands forward. “Do you see a light?”
It was impossible to see anything. The slat was only open enough for him to look out. “I’m sure it’s the headlights from whoever just rang the bell.”
“The bell rang?”
I took another long drag. “Yeah, just a minute ago. Caleb answered it.”
“Stop him.” He reminded me of a grasshopper as he looked over his shoulder to speak. “Stop him right now. Tell him to back away from the door. Slowly…so fucking slowly. And close it. Close it haaaaard. They’re coming, Rae…they’re coming for me!”
This wasn’t the first time I’d seen someone act this way. I’d been around drugs and their users so much over the years, behavior like his was almost expected at times. It had never really bothered me. Maybe because the weed had given me a nice calm buzz, and I was able to tune it out. Or maybe because all my friends were druggies; if I wasn’t hanging with them, listening to shit like this, I’d have been completely alone. Or maybe because this had become somewhat normal for me, and nothing—not even Jeremy acting like a squirrel and thinking there were imaginary people coming to get him—could have been more fucked up then the events that had led to my scar.
But some of that was no longer true. I was reconnecting with Hart, and he didn’t use. And I wasn’t nearly high enough to ignore Jeremy‘s tweaking side. And almost every time I’d been in this house, something happened…something that just wasn’t right.
I really shouldn’t have been taking this so lightly, but I needed something to alleviate the storm of pain roiling inside me.
“Raaaaae, you’re ignoring me. Have they gotten to you, too, Rae? Have they taken over your body?”
“No, Jeremy, they haven’t taken over my body.” I stuck the tip of the blunt back in my mouth and sucked in another hit.
“Go get Caleb. Noooow.” His eyes had moved back to the window. Tremors made his hands shake even harder than before. “Tell him to close the door.”
“Tell me yourself,” Caleb said, joining us in the living room. “Dude, you’ve got to lay off that shit. You’re making less sense than you usually do.” He stopped in front of me to pick up the blunt. When he saw the size of it, he walked away without it. “Keep it. I’ll roll another.”
“Caleb, we’re surrounded!” Jeremy said, still staring out the window. “I’m telling you, they’re penetrating.”
“You mean infiltrating?” Caleb asked, breaking up a bud on the table.
“Same shit,” Jeremy said. “I can see ‘em. They’re everywhere. Wearing black or some color like that. Holy fuck, did you see that one? It just jumped, Caleb! It fucking jumped!”
I kept puffing on the blunt until it was finally down to a roach. Caleb kept all the roaches—whether they were the very ends of joints or blunts—in a jar under the coffee table. When the jar got full every few weeks, he’d dump all the ends together, sprinkle in some resin and roll a massive godfather that was at least three papers wide. The last time I’d attended one of those epic smoking sessions was just before Brady had taken off. The jar was almost full; there would be another one coming up soon.
I wouldn’t be here for that one.
I stubbed out the blunt, dropped it in the jar, put the lid back, and stood from the couch. “I’ll see you guys in a little bit.”
“Don’t go out there,” Jeremy yelled. “They’ll get you. They’ll—”
“I’m just going to my room,” I said as I passed him. “Relax.” I knew without checking that it was well past four in the morning. I needed to charge my phone for a bit and get all my clothes together. Hart would be getting up soon for work, if he wasn’t already awake, and I didn’t want to miss him.
My room was exactly as I’d left it, but the mattress was now bare. I didn’t see the trash bag of puke anywhere. Thankfully, it seemed the boys had cleaned it up for me.
I was still dressed in Hart’s sweatpants and hoodie as I took a seat on the floor next to the bed. The stains on the mattress looked worse than they had before. I couldn’t tell if they were from piss or blood—most likely both. I imagined someone had crashed here after Hart had carried me out. The new splatter marks on the wall were probably from them, too…and the smell.
This place was just nasty.
The blunt was making me lazy. I wanted to get the hell out of there, but I just didn’t have the energy after working all night and driving back to Bar Harbor. I leaned against the wall, trying to avoid the stains and crossed my legs. I pulled out the elastic that held my ponytail, letting the strands fall around my face and over my shoulders. My fingers ran through it, picking out the knots, smoothing down the soft waves.
I felt sleep coming. My lids were heavy, my mouth dry from the weed. My body was supported by the wall as my chin found a comfortable spot on my shoulder.
When my eyes closed, I saw Gerald’s hands. They were in the middle of all the blackness.
My eyes burst open, but they were too heavy to remain that way and immediately shut again. And I was too tired to fight it.
To fight him.
&n
bsp; He was there, waiting for me…
***
“You’re such a sweet girl,” he whispered. He was so close, his breath felt like a feather on my cheek. Or like the stuffing that came out of my doll when Darren ripped the head off. My brother said the doll was creepy-looking… maybe it was.
His warm hand rested on my back and began rubbing circles between my shoulder blades. After a few seconds, he moved up slowly until he reached the bare skin on my neck, the spot between the collar of my T-shirt and my hair.
“Do you like being a good girl…for me?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
I liked to make him happy. When I did, he gave me presents or candy. Mommy worked nights, so she didn’t know what he fed me. He liked it that way…and I think I did, too.
“To help you fall asleep, I want you to think about one of your favorite places. Will you do that for me?”
I nodded again.
That favorite place was Mommy’s bed on Sunday mornings. She never worked on Sundays. Darren and I would crawl in on both sides of her and fall asleep against her arms. When we would wake up, she’d be gone. She was usually in the kitchen making us breakfast. Sometimes he’d be out there with her, and they’d fight about money.
Then later in the morning, while Darren and I were watching cartoons on the couch, she’d go into her room and lock the door. I’d lean against it and listen to her. She’d be crying. That was as close as she’d let me get, so that’s where I’d stay. I usually fell asleep there.
One time she forgot to lock her door. It was after one of their money fights. I brought in my piggy bank and set it on her big bed. She wouldn’t take it, so I emptied it on top of her blanket and told her to keep all the quarters. It had taken me so long to save them, but I wanted her to have it all.
Mommy needed my money more than I did.
“Close your eyes for me, sweetheart,” he said.
I did as he said and curled my arms around my pillow.
His hand moved a little higher as he brushed over my hair. His fingers were like the comb Mommy used on me sometimes when she helped me get ready for school, sliding back and forth between each strand. Every couple of passes, he’d sweep the hair out of my eyes or tuck it behind my ear. Then he’d start again, brush, brush, sweep.
Brush, brush, sweep.
Back and forth…back and forth.
His skin was so warm, and even though it was rough, it didn’t hurt when he brushed. The dryness on his fingers would often make my forehead sore, or my cheek, or my neck. But the sweep was quickly followed by two brushes and I loved those.
Brush, brush, sweep.
“Good night, Rae,” he said.
Brush, brush, sweep.
His lips kissed the middle of my cheek. His mouth was always wet enough to leave a mark on my skin. Sometimes it took minutes for it to dry. But I didn’t concentrate on that. I concentrated on my Mommy.
Brush, brush, sweep.
Back and forth.
***
I woke to the scream that tore from my lips, and I tucked my legs against my chest. My arms clasped around my knees as I rocked.
Back and forth.
Twenty-three days.
My ass swayed over the crunchy carpet, and goose bumps covered my entire body. I had a similar reaction when Hart touched me, but for completely different reasons. This time, it was the same as when I thought about Gary, the fucking peeper. How I’d been completely naked. Totally vulnerable.
Open for his touch without even knowing it.
Considering the missed call and the so-called meeting with my mom, I wasn’t surprised he’d popped into my dream.
Not my dream. My nightmare.
Those hands…I couldn’t get them out of my head.
Every time I swallowed, more saliva shot into my mouth. It was my stomach’s way of responding to the feel of his fingers, and the meaning behind them. It was also a warning, telling me I needed to head to a bathroom and that I didn’t have much time.
I rose quickly and sprinted out of my room, my stomach heaving before I even got to the hallway. The door to the bathroom was open. Jeremy was kneeling in front of the toilet, so I went straight to the sink. I’d told Shane earlier that the pancakes had tasted so good going down. They didn’t hold any of their fluffy buttery goodness when they came back up. The small piece of chicken and two sodas that I’d had at work only made it worse.
When my stomach finally felt empty and I’d stopped dry heaving, I turned on the faucet to wash everything down the drain. The basin was half-full; the added water filled it even higher. I glanced at Jeremy while I waited for it to drain. His finger was down his throat as he gagged over the toilet, but nothing solid came out. His face turned redder with each heave.
“Not feeling so hot?” I asked.
It was a stupid question. He was trying to make himself sick; obviously, he wasn’t feeling good. But something seemed off. I stared for a second, realizing the hand that wasn’t down his throat had slid past the elastic waist of his sweats. He was jerking off…and whimpering. I couldn’t tell if his noises were from how good it felt or if the fingers hitting the back of his throat were causing him pain.
The combination of the two was way too fucking bizarre.
“Jeremy,” I barked, “what the hell?”
His hand poked into the fabric of his sweats on the upstroke and disappeared during the downstroke. It began to move faster, his breath quickened. “I’m…getting…them…out.” He gagged again, shoving his other fingers even deeper down his throat. Not even saliva came, or bile. He was as empty as I was.
I glanced back at the sink. The puke was floating on the top of the water, which had now pooled and almost filled the entire bowl. I needed to stick my fingers in the drain to unclog it or get a plunger. Something.
But I was too distracted by the asshole masturbating and heaving next to me.
“They penetrated me,” he said. “I need to get them out.”
He hadn’t sobered up at all. He’d probably taken even more shit, and this was just the start of his psychosis.
I wasn’t going to stick around to watch the middle…or the end.
Or any more of the beginning.
His jerking filled the silence as I looked under the sink for a plunger. There was nothing there, so I checked the bathroom closet.
“Ahhhhh!” he yelled. A gag followed. “Get. The. Fuck. Out. Of. Me!” Each word came out of his mouth in the same beat that he pumped his fist. “Get. The. Fuck. Out. Of. Me!”
Someone else could clean up the sink and the puke water.
I needed to get the hell out of there.
I tore off to the kitchen, searching through the cabinets for a trash bag. The only one I could find was on the floor of the pantry, covered in dust and hairballs. I picked it up, opened it and shook it out as I rushed back into my room. I didn’t fold my clothes or put them in any kind of order. I just shoved them into the bag. This was the second time I’d done this—cramming my whole wardrobe into plastic, unfolded and probably even a little damp and stained from whatever was musty on the carpet. It didn’t matter.
After I collected all my stuff, I shut the bedroom door behind me. Jeremy was still in the bathroom, his sounds growing louder as I approached. Skin rubbing on raw flesh. Gagging on his own fingers. He was unfazed as I stood in the doorway watching him. The crank had made him like that. Most of Brady’s boys had been on it at some point over the years. It made them do some insane things.
Even Saint.
He was such a straightedge now, but he’d earned his nickname years ago when his grandmother had dragged him to church early one Sunday morning after a party. Mid-sermon, Saint tried to get up from the pew to make a run for the bathroom. He didn’t make it. He ended up hurling all over his grandmother. Jeremy’s parents had been sitting in the pew behind them and his dad shouted, “That boy ain’t no fuckin’ saint.”
The name just stuck after that.
There were a
few times Saint had completely freaked out on meth, so he ended up switching to opiates. He thought those would give him more control over his mind. So instead of tweaking, he nodded out. That phase didn’t last long. And afterward, he quit using everything. He didn’t even drink anymore.
I hoped Brady could do that.
I hoped he’d never come back to this house after he got out of rehab. I hoped I’d never see him bent over a toilet, dry heaving and jerking off at the same time.
I hoped he’d leave his demons behind without having them follow him home.
I didn’t bother saying good-bye to Jeremy; I figured he was occupied enough as it was. I didn’t see Caleb in the living room or kitchen, so I didn’t say bye to him either. I went straight out to my car, threw my bag in the passenger seat and pulled out my phone to send them both texts. The screen was black. I’d forgotten to charge it before my nap.
I couldn’t call Hart and let him know I was on my way over.
He’d know soon enough when I showed up.
But that also meant I couldn’t see if there were any other calls from unknown since the last time I’d checked. The thought made my heart shudder.
Before I started the engine, before I even put on my seatbelt, I pressed my forehead against the steering wheel, wrapped my hands around it, closed my eyes and breathed. Shane was right: I didn’t need any more shit right now.
Not with only twenty-three days.
Hart had asked me to move in, and I knew then that I would. I wasn’t running to him as much as I was escaping the mess in Caleb’s house. I didn’t know how long I’d stay, or if it was even the right place for me to live.
But anything was better than Caleb’s.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I LEFT MY THINGS on the passenger seat of the car and walked up the path to Hart’s front door. My knuckles had barely touched the wood before it flew open. He stood on the other side, leaning into the frame with his feet crossed, wearing only a pair of jeans. He took a sip from the mug he held. “Where the hell have you been?”
I didn’t realize how exhausted I was until that very moment. The last few hours had caught up to me; the sights, the sounds, the smells…I just wanted to sit somewhere clean.