Pocketful of Shame: Pocket #2

by Chloe Walsh

  "Lovely," I muttered, grabbing the orderly scrubs. "That's just…fucking lovely."

  Chapter Five

  Romi

  When I woke again, it was to a spinning room and tingling limbs. Feeling woozy from the steady stream of medication that had been rammed into my veins, I blinked the sleep from my eyes and peered around the sterile room.

  "Ah, good, you're awake," a gentle voice said from close by. "My name is Kathy. I'm your nurse tonight and I'll be with you until changeover at 8am." I heard the sound of a hardback snapping shut moments before a chair scraping against the tiled floor filled the silence. "You've been asleep for hours, Romi."

  Reluctantly, I turned my neck to face her. "What time…" swallowing deeply, I forced out, "is it?"

  "It's a little after four in the morning," she replied, voice warm, eyes kind. "On Thursday night – or Friday morning." She smiled. "Whichever way you want to look at it."

  "Oh." Turning back to face the ceiling, I ran my tongue over my cracked lips, tasting the familiar tang of metallic on my flesh.

  "How are you feeling?" she asked, fussing with the blanket draped over my body. "Any pain in your leg?"

  "Um…" I shook my head. "Just thirsty."

  Sympathy flickered in her brown eyes and she leaned close to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. "Such a pretty girl," she whispered sadly. "Such a shame."

  "I feel really…woozy."

  "That's the meds," she explained. "You're a little out of it right now, but that's okay. It's a chance for you to get some well-deserved rest. I bet you're really tired, huh? You've had a hard year."

  "I don’t like it."

  "I know," she crooned in a coaxing tone. "It's no fun, honey."

  "Can you help me?" I squeezed out, turning to face her. "I don’t belong here."

  "I believe you," she replied, stroking my cheek affectionately. "But you won't be here forever."

  "Please," I replied weakly, forcing myself not to recoil from her touch. "I'm so scared."

  "What are you scared of, sweetheart?" she asked gently. "Hmm?"

  "Everyone," I breathed, feeling my heartrate spike. "Everything."

  "Well, maybe if you tell me what's worrying you most, I can help you?"

  "You can't help me." I shook my head. "No one can help me."

  "Why don’t you let me be the judge of that," she replied, offering me another comforting smile. "I'm here to help you, Romi. I can help you, honey. Trust me."

  I'm scared.

  I'm in so much trouble.

  I think I'm going to die.

  Just like him…

  "I'm …" Shaking my head, I blew out a ragged breath, forcing myself to swallow my fears. She couldn’t help me and I couldn’t trust her. I couldn’t trust anyone. Chris warned me of that. "Thirsty." I swallowed deeply. "I’m just really thirsty."

  The nurse stared hard at me for the longest moment before finally shaking her head in what looked like defeat. "Okay, lovely, how does an ice-cold soda sound?"

  "Awesome," I whispered, and I actually meant it. My throat felt like sandpaper and my lips were so dry that it hurt to swallow.

  "Coke?"

  I nodded.

  "Okay." She smiled again. Another sad one. "I'll be right back."

  The moment she left the room, I released the sob I'd been holding in and yanked on the restraints on my wrists that shackled me to the bed.

  Not a minute later, the door flew inwards and a doctor in a white coat strolled in, clipboard in hand, stethoscope draped around his shoulders. "Good evening, Miss Dillon," he announced in a strangely familiar voice, pushing his black glasses up his nose. "Are you ready to get the fuck out of here?"

  "Huh?"

  "Romi, it's me."

  "Pres?"

  "The one and only," he replied, tossing the clipboard on my bed.

  Moments later, a huge orderly, dressed in green scrubs, came bounding into the room with a linen cart in tow. "Let's bounce," he hissed, dragging a knife from his pocket. "We have about five minutes until she comes back."

  "Then you better get to work," Presley drawled, tone laced with sarcasm. "Cut her loose. Obviously."

  "Sketch?" I strangled out, chest heaving as my brain slowly processed what my bleary eyes were seeing. "Sketch?"

  Intense blue eyes locked on mine, causing my skin to flush with heat. "Hey, Ro."

  Two words.

  Two fricking words and my heart was bucking wildly in my chest.

  "H-how are you even here?" My voice cracked and I swallowed down a swell of emotion fighting its way to the surface and threatening to overwhelm me. "I don’t understand."

  "I'm getting you out of here," he explained, coming towards me with a gigantic freaking knife. "Stay still," he instructed, clamping his large hand on mine while he sawed through the leather restraint on my wrist. "Don’t move, Ro. I've got this." Moving quicker than my eyes could keep up, Sketch cut through all four cuffs until I was free. "Let's go."

  I didn’t move.

  I couldn’t.

  "Romi, come on, I said let's go!"

  "Sketch, she's doped to the high heavens on some mighty fine tranquilizers," I heard Presley say. "Seriously, she's as weak as a baby kitten right now, man. She can't get up on her own."

  "Then help her," Sketch countered, sounding like he was in pain.

  "Dude, have you looked at me lately?" Presley demanded, hurrying towards me to rip the I.V from my hand. "I'm 143 pounds soaking wet. My sister can bench more than me and she's twelve. How am I supposed to carry her?"

  "You're an athlete, ain't you?"

  "I like to swim," Presley deadpanned, tossing the needle away. "It's a very freeing pastime – good for the heart. You like to hurt people, full back. You've got this. Pick the girl up and let's get the hell out of here."

  "Presley, you don’t understand. I can't –"

  "Come on, Sketch, do you want her to stay in here?"

  "Goddammit to hell," Sketch snarled, returning to my side, eyes blazing with a torrent of emotions. "Come on, Ro, get up," he urged, pulling me into a sitting position. "Pres, hand me the hoodie."

  "Hoodie?"

  "Yes, asshole, it's in my cart. She's in a damn backless gown. Do you want her to freeze?"

  "Oh, that hoodie," Pres muttered. "I'm on it, buddy."

  "Why are you doing this?" I breathed, shivering violently as I leaned against his chest, feeling woozy.

  "You don’t belong here," Sketch replied, pushing something over my head. The hoodie, I quickly realized when I felt him push my arms through the sleeves. "Can you walk?" he asked, keeping one arm around my back. "Can you try for me?"

  I shrugged weakly. "I d-don’t know."

  "We've gotta go," Presley announced. "Now, dude."

  Muttering a string of curse words, Sketch scooped me into his arms and moved for the linen cart. "Just for a little bit, okay?" he said, setting me inside the cart with trembling hands. "Keep your head down and don’t make a sound."

  "I'm so mad at you," I heard myself whisper through cracked lips.

  His nostrils flared and he nodded stiffly. "I know."

  "I think I hate you," I added, voice slurring a little.

  "Yeah, I think I hate me, too." Blowing out a shaky breath, he covered me up with towels and blankets, hands still shaking violently. "I've got this, Ro," he promised, blue eyes burning into mine as he stared down at me. "I've got you, okay?"

  Swallowing down a tsunami of fear, I nodded weakly. "Okay."

  His eyes blazed with heat and his jaw ticked before he placed a blanket over my head. And then we were moving – where to, I had no idea, but it was clearly at a fast pace because my body was jolted around like crazy.

  "Go, go, go, dude," I could hear Presley hiss. "Don’t stop. I'll distract her and meet you back at the motel."

  I knew the moment we were outside because the cold assaulted my senses, the night air cutting into my bones, causing my teeth to chatter loudly.

  "Almost there, Ro
," Sketch said from somewhere above my head.

  I nodded to myself, not daring to speak a word.

  Finally, when the cart came to a stop and the blankets were removed from my head, I exhaled a ragged breath. "I have a name."

  This time, when he had to help me up, Sketch didn’t hesitate. Hooking his hands under my arms, he lifted me out of the cart and quickly rounded the back of his truck. "You have a name?" he asked, as he unlocked his truck and yanked the door open. Frowning, he helped me into the backseat. "I know your name, Ro."

  "No, no, no –" Shaking my head, I slumped down on the backseat, watching as he fastened my seatbelt around my waist before closing the door and climbing into the driver's seat. "You don’t understand," I tried again. "I have a name."

  Sketch didn’t respond to that. Instead, he cranked the engine and buckled up. "Come on, Presley." Drumming his hands against the steering wheel, he muttered a string of curses. "Hurry up, dammit."

  "He said he'd meet you at the motel," I whispered, remembering Presley's words.

  "I know," he replied. "But I'm still not leaving him here."

  "Why'd you come for me, Sketch?"

  "I'll always come for you, Ro," was his quiet response. "You know that."

  "But you hate me."

  "Yeah." He sighed heavily. "Pretty fucked up, huh?"

  "Catochi."

  "Huh?"

  "That's the name I was trying to tell you about." I sighed wearily, eyelids fluttering. "He was one of the four men that night."

  "Holy shit, are you serious?" He turned in his seat to face me. "You have a name?"

  "Yes." I yawned, unsure of what the heck I was talking about. "Catochi."

  "Catochi," Sketch repeated the name a couple of times before flicking his gaze to mine. "Romi, I –"

  The passenger door flew open and Presley's voice filled the air as he dove inside. "Thanks for waiting, buddy, knew you loved me, but you need to haul ass." Slamming the door shut, he banged the dashboard and yelled, "Drive, Sketch. Move the damn truck. Now!"

  Chapter Six

  Sketch

  "Texas is one big-ass state," I declared, tossing my third burger wrapper in the trash can outside the first fast-food diner we'd found off interstate 10. Even though it was late October, the afternoon sun was stronger than usual and I was feeling every ray. Stripping off my hoodie, I rolled my shoulders, desperate to work out the stiffness creeping into my joints. "Twelve hours of non-stop driving and we're still fucking here."

  "I like Texas," Presley announced between slurps from his milkshake. "It's a beautiful state, and I, for one, am thoroughly enjoying this impromptu road trip."

  "Yeah, I bet you're having a whale of a time in the passenger seat. Meanwhile, do you know what I like, Pres?"

  "No, but I'm sure you're gonna tell me," he chuckled.

  "Damn straight I'm gonna tell you, so listen up, buttercup," I snapped. "I like not being holed up in a damn car for half a day. I like not stewing in my own sweat. I like stretching my legs. I like not starving to death because there's not a restaurant within a hundred miles. I like not listening to you snoring your head off in my damn ear. I like sleeping in a bed and I like running fucking water!"

  He rolled his eyes. "And you say I'm hyperactive."

  "Twelve hours, Quinton," I reiterated, practically spitting my words. "Twelve fucking hours without food." I threw my hands up. "I could've have died. Do you get that? I'm not built for fasting."

  "Relax, princess, it's been nine hours, not twelve, and we're only a couple of hours out from El Paso."

  I huffed out a breath, feeling slightly mollified. "Good, because we need to find somewhere to take her."

  "Yes, and we will," Presley replied, as he lazed against the hood of my truck. "Next sign we see for a motel, we'll check in and get you a big ol' bed and running water."

  "Thank you," I huffed. "That's all I wanted." Strolling back to the truck, I peeked through the open window and found Romi in the exact same position she'd been in since leaving Houston; curled up in a ball with her head resting on her hands. "Shouldn't she be awake by now?" I asked, feeling a pang of concern churn inside of me. "It's not normal to sleep that much, right?"

  "Let her sleep the drugs off," he replied, waving me off. "We need her clear-headed."

  "True," I grumbled, running a hand through my hair. "Who the hell is Catochi? Do you think she was raving? I mean, is it a person or a thing? Because it sounds to me like something you order in one of those fishy places."

  "Fishy places?"

  "Yeah, you know, those fancy-pants restaurants that serve sushi and all that raw, slimy shit."

  "Dude, you are such a redneck," Presley snickered. "Slimy shit. Have you ever even tried sushi? It's an exotic delicacy and tastes damn good."

  "Do I look like I eat sushi?" I demanded, gesturing to myself. "I like meat, Presley. Cow. Beef. Pork. Pig. Hot dogs. Bacon. Sausage. Fucking meat."

  He waggled his brows. "So, you like sausage, huh?"

  "Don’t you start," I warned, pointing a finger at him. "I'm in no mood for flirting now, ya hear?"

  Laughing, he held his hands up and pushed off the hood. "Want me to buy you another burger, Mister Hangry?"

  Exhaling heavily, I dropped my hands to my hips and nodded. "Yeah, man. I really fucking do."

  "I'm on it," he said, tossing his milkshake in the trash. "But can you do me a favor first?"

  "What?" I asked, instantly wary.

  "Can you relax?" Pres said, giving me a knowing look. "She's okay now. You can breathe again." He walked away without waiting for a response.

  When he disappeared inside the diner, I exhaled a ragged breath and rested my forehead against the metal of the truck, eyes locked on the girl inside. "Fuck."

  How was I going to handle an undisclosed amount of time in close quarters with her? I could hardly breathe right now and she wasn't even awake. What the hell was I going to do when she opened her eyes again? For a brief moment, I debated flagging down a car and getting the hell away from this life, but decided against it. I could never go through with it. If I could leave Romi Dillon, honest to god leave her and never look back, then I'd have done it two years ago.

  Savagely, my mind decided to take this as the perfect opportunity to taunt and goad me with memories of another lifetime…

  "Romi?" Pushing her bedroom door inwards, I quickly slipped inside and closed it behind me before Mr. Dillon caught me sneaking into his house after dark and told my daddy. "You in here, Ro?"

  "Over here, Sketch," a small voice sniffled.

  Brows furrowed, I followed the voice, stepping over a Barbie tea party as I moved. "What are you doing under the bed?" I asked, dropping down to my knees so I could get a good look at her lying on her belly under her giant princess bed, with her face in her hands. "You were 'posed to meet me in the treehouse after school today, remember? I waited 'til it got dark, but then I got hungry and Miss Cherry was calling for me."

  "I know." Sniffling, she tucked her hands under her chin and looked up at me. "S-sorry."

  Frowning, I crawled under the bed, not stopping until I was sitting lying on my belly, facing her. "Why are you crying, Ro?" I whispered, reaching out to wipe a tear from her cheek. Her golden hair didn’t have any braids or red ribbons today. "I hate it when you cry." It made my chest hurt.

  Snaking a hand out, she grabbed mine and pulled it to her cheek. "It's happening again."

  "The bad dreams?"

  "Uh-huh." She nodded. "Feels like it's really happening." Another sniffle. "It's like I can really hear the screaming. Like out loud."

  "It's just a dream, Ro," I replied, letting her squeeze my hand. "I already told you, it ain't real."

  "But what if it is real, Sketch?" she croaked out. "What then?"

  "Well, I'm here now," I told her, trying to sound brave. I knew why she was so scared, because I had the same dreams. "And I ain't never gonna let anyone hurt you."

  "You swear?" she whispered, eyes wide
.

  I nodded solemnly. "I swear."

  "Can you sleep over?" she asked, shuffling closer. "Please?"

  "Mama says I ain't allowed to sleep in your room," I reminded her. "'Cause I'm seven and have a penis."

  Romi scrunched her nose up. "Ew. Gross."

  "Can't help it." I shrugged. "That's what I got. And your daddy said I ain't got no business sniffing 'round you." I frowned, still confused by that. "I don’t even sniff you."

  "Well, I don’t care," she finally replied. "You're still my best friend and I want you to stay over. You make me feel safe."

  "I'm your best friend?" I smiled proudly. "Not Chris?"

  "Ew. No. Chris is a goodie two-shoes." She shook her head. "You're my favorite."

  "I ain't never been anyone's favorite before."

  "Well you'll always be mine."

  "Okay," I said, mind made up. "I'll stay tonight."

  "Really?" She beamed. "You will?"

  "Uh-huh." I smiled back at her. "Ain't like anyone's gonna notice I'm gone."

  "You gotta sleep under my bed again," she said. "So Daddy doesn’t catch you in here. You know how mad he gets at you."

  "Good idea," I agreed. "Hey, Ro?"

  "Yeah, Sketch?"

  "Think he'll ever stop being mad at me?"

  Her smile fell. "I don’t know."

  "Oh." I nodded. "Hey, Ro?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Think my mama will ever stop being mad at me?"

  Tears filled her eyes and she launched at me, wrapping her arms around my neck so tight that my body grew hot in the small space. "I'll never be mad at you," she vowed, hugging me tightly. "And you'll always be my best friend, and my favorite, and I'll always sit with you at lunch and in class. I'll always play with you at recess and…and I'll buy a big ole house when we're grown and we can live there together. Just us. No mean grown-ups. I'll take care of you. Best friends forever."

  "You planning on marrying me or something, Ro?" I laughed, patting her back. "Gotta live with your husband when you're grown. It's the rules."