Under the Influence

by L. B. Simmons

  My breath catches as he twists to face me. My Dalton stares back at me, his features no longer hardened in anger, but relaxed as he continues to hold the little girl in his arms.

  Commotion in the doorway interrupts the moment as my mother enters the house, frantic and clearly distraught as she hastily begins to scan the room. Her search is stalled when her eyes hesitate on the image of Penny’s father lying on the floor, but eventually she finds me as I continue to stand in silence. “I’m okay,” I reassure her.

  She expels a relieved breath, redirecting her attention to Dalton and Penny before it falls to Penny’s mother still on the floor.

  At the sight, she snaps out of her haze. “Penny, baby, are you okay?” Her tone is shaky as she tries to maintain a hold on her composure.

  Penny nods her answer. “Dalton took care of it.”

  My mother’s eyes widen and even though she’s flustered, pride flashes across her features before she clears her throat. “Yes, I can see that.” Mom turns to Dalton. “I need you to take Spencer and get out of here. She doesn’t need to see any more than she already has, and you … well, the cops are on their way.”

  Dalton glances at me before affirming with a jerk of his head. He turns back to Penny, whispers something in her ear and I watch as she shakes her head gently before climbing off his lap. Just as her feet hit the floor, Michelle Owen’s eyes flutter open, only to close again when her baby girl is in her arms.

  Dalton rises to his feet, towering over me as he approaches. With the loss of Penny, his features have solidified with returning rage and his eyes are as hard and cold as steel. My mother wastes no time, turning both of us in the direction of the door before shoving us lightly. “I’ll handle it from here.”

  Just as we step outside the house, she calls from behind us, “Thank you, Dalton. For everything.”

  His eyes hit the ground and his expression tightens, but he raises his hand, giving my mother a two finger salute in acknowledgment.

  Just as we arrive at the side of the car, a police cruiser slows and pulls into the driveway.

  “Fuuuuck,” Dalton growls as a uniformed policeman and another man in dark dress pants and a light blue polo step out onto the pavement. The man with the pants instructs the other policeman to go on ahead while he stays back, eyeing Dalton as he leans back against the cruiser. Once the policeman disappears, the man addresses Dalton with a knowing tone. “Fancy meeting you at Ed Jamison’s house, Greer.”

  Dalton muscles tense, but his tone is relaxed as he responds. “Just came by to take the girl home, at the request of her mother due to the circumstances involved. Haven’t stepped foot inside the house, Lawson.”

  Lawson’s brown eyes flit downward, taking in Dalton’s noticeably swollen knuckles before they rise again, filled with grim satisfaction at the sight. “Is that so?” He narrows his gaze onto Dalton’s face. “Two counts of domestic assault within the past six months. Jamieson will be going away for a while.”

  Dalton nods then opens the passenger side door and gestures for me to get inside. I remain where I stand, eyeing Lawson warily.

  Lawson watches our interaction, then chuckles to himself as he presses himself away from the cruiser. “She suits you.”

  Frustrated with my forced anonymity, I step in front of Dalton and extend my hand. “Spencer Locke, and you are?”

  Dalton releases a ragged growl, which only serves to widen Lawson’s grin. His kind, brown eyes crinkle at the sides with silent laughter, and I can’t help but notice that he’s quite handsome for an older man. I fight my own grin as he takes my hand.

  “Kirk. Kirk Lawson.” His grin remains intact as he glances to Dalton. “Stubborn. She definitely suits you.”

  Dalton remains silent and I take the cue. “Well it was nice to meet you, Kirk. We’ll just be leaving now.”

  He dips his head in my direction and I avoid Dalton’s stare as I climb into the car. Just as Dalton moves to shut the door behind me, Lawson leans in and states, “Off the record, I hope you taught the prick a fucking unforgettable lesson.” Dalton’s face remains blank as Lawson rises. “On the record, I have officially noted that you did not enter the house and your presence here was merely in response to a request made by the girl’s…” He breaks to glance down at me. “Spencer’s mother.”

  I smile at him and he grins in return, before stepping away. “Well, it was good to see you, Greer. Make sure Spencer here gets home safe.” His smile widens. “And I would ice that hand if I were you. Looks like you bashed it against something pretty hard.” Lawson winks at me before finally turning in the direction of the house, leaving both of us in stunned silence.

  And in silence we remain until we arrive at my house.

  An eerie, uncomfortable silence.

  A silence known as the calm before the storm.

  WE ENTER SPENCER’S HOUSE, and I immediately head to the freezer. Grabbing a bag of frozen peas, I slam the door, then walk toward the granite counter and toss the bag on its surface. My entire body breaks into a cold sweat and I brace the heels of my hands against the lip of the counter and bend my neck¸ trying to inhale deeply in order to restrain the surge of anger.

  My mind is reeling and the voices inside are screaming for me to hit something. Anything.

  Visions of Penny’s swollen cheek, her mother’s contorted body lying on the floor, the fucking grin on Jamieson’s face as it morphs into Bill’s, laughing as he strikes me over and over...

  And then I’m gone, disappeared, transported to my past. No longer eighteen years old, but twelve, then nine, then six, then four, then…

  The faces blur but the laughter continues with the beatings. Each punch, each kick, each slash, each whip…each strike is felt and my body clenches so tightly, I feel myself shaking, but there’s nothing I can do. I’m lost in my past…consumed by the humiliation and pain dealt to me by my many abusers. Vanished into the memories of new homes entered and how each one brought not the security of family, but fresh forms of evil. Evil I didn’t even know could exist in this world. Evil that should be found only in books…in Dante’s visions of Hell. Not here on this earth.

  Evil which should definitely not be inflicted upon fucking helpless children who only seek love and acceptance, who cry themselves to sleep at night because they want so desperately to be wanted, who have their dreams demolished over and over again with each new “family”.

  I wince as another belt strikes my back and I fight the urge to cry out. I never cried in front of them. I never gave them the fucking satisfaction. I endured beatings that left me rendered completely immobile for days, but I never…fucking…cried.

  Fuck them. Fuck all of them.

  Another kick to the ribs my body jolts upon impact, leaving me breathless.

  “Dalton?”

  A familiar voice filters through the heinous laughter, somehow breaching through the crowd surrounding me. Light and warmth break with it, and my muscles protest as I lift my hand to try to touch it when it begins to encompass me. Soft skin presses against my cheek and I cling to the feeling, leaning into the touch.

  “Dalton, I’m here.” A tremble rakes through my body as warm arms wrap around my neck, enveloping me securely and silencing the demons of my past, now merely clouds of smoke as they dissipate all around me. My ribs scream in agony as I fold myself around the angel who has taken pity on me and hold on as tight as my bruised body will allow.

  Silken tresses caress my face as I breathe in deeply, the pain finally subsiding. My body trembles within the embrace, but I’m too fucking exhausted to ward it off. I allow the quaking to continue as warmth permeates me, soothes me, calms me.

  I have no long idea how long I remain embraced until I find myself back in the present. My eyes open hesitantly, and as the light seeps in, I’m forced to blink rapidly until they finally adjust. I unclench my arms and lean away, met with Spencer’s face drenched in tears.

  My skin is coated in a cold sheen of sweat as I fully release her,
stepping away before the pollution of my past can be transferred to her. I shake my head when she attempts to close the distance I’ve created, holding my hand up and signaling for her to remain where she stands.

  And just as I’ve found relief, it disappears, replaced by bitter repugnance. A fiery discharge detonates in my chest as savage fury explodes beneath my ribcage, charring any serenity her presence previously provided.

  “I need some time,” I choke out.

  Spencer releases a sob, and the sound furthers my pain as my heart suffers the blunt impact, but I ignore it.

  “Dalton, you need to talk about it. It’s not healthy for you to keep it bottled up. I feel what it does to you.”

  Still seething in hatred and loathing, I snicker, uncaring about what my words will do to her.

  “Why? So you can pity me? Feel sorry for me? Fucking weep for me?” My lips curl and my nostrils flare. “You want to know me? To really know me? To be let in on the big secret of my fucked up past so it gives your perfect life some sort of twisted purpose?”

  Her eyes narrow and I feel her anger brewing from where she remains rooted to the floor. Fresh tears spring in her eyes as she states barely above a whisper, “My life is far from perfect.”

  I scoff and shake my head. “Seems pretty perfect to me. Your perfect house. Your perfect mother. The both of you and your perfect crusade to change the world. Where the fuck were you when I needed you, huh?”

  My eyes prick with moisture and my throat narrows, forcing me to swallow back the sorrow as I continue rambling. “Where were the two of you when I was born a bastard child to a crack-whore mother, only to be abandoned in the hospital the day after she gave birth—unwanted? Where were you when I was shuffled from shit home to even shittier home, forced to endure situations your untainted mind wouldn’t even be able to comprehend—completely helpless? Where were you then?” Emotion overwhelms me. “WHERE THE FUCK WERE YOU THEN?!”

  Her body jolts with my scream but anger continues to drive me. “By the time you two found me, I was already too far gone. While your mother did her job because the Houseman’s were a good family, I didn’t need them. I didn’t even fucking want them. In fact, I loathed them. I hated the idea of their very existence because every day spent with them forced me to face the reality that there were actually caring families out there that I just happened to miss out on for the first twelve years of my life. Twelve long years in which absolutely no one helped me. No one. Not until I found Silas Kincaid did anyone bother to pay any attention to me. To feed me. To protect me.”

  My mouth puckers in distaste. “And because of that, I am indebted to him. Stuck in a life of crime in which there is no escape. I am involved in drug trafficking, Spencer. Loan sharking. Gambling rings. I beat the shit out of people who owe Silas Kincaid, my boss, money. One day soon, I will be forced up the hierarchy to kill people who owe Silas Kincaid money. And then, shortly after that, I will be required to assume my role as the rightful heir to part of his organization since I’ve been ordained the adopted son of a crime lord.”

  I expel a long, deep breath, exhausted and defeated. “Is that what you wanted to hear? My sad, pitiful life saturated with lies and deceit. Do you still think you can help me? Save me from a life in which there is absolutely no way out, other than death?”

  The tears finally seep from my eyes as I fist my shirt, pulling it away from my chest. “I’m coated in filth, Spencer. Other people’s blood. Unforgivable corruption. Not even you can rescue me from what I’ve done. From the person I’ve become.”

  Spencer’s own tears flow freely as she eyes me cautiously. Our gazes remain locked until she finally wipes her face with her fingers and inhales deeply. “I was lucky. I am lucky. I would give anything to trade places with you, Dalton. I would give my life to do that, to alleviate the agony that burdens you. The guilt that plagues you. I understand doing what you need to do in order to survive. I don’t, and will never, fault you for that.”

  She tightens her stare. “But I will fault you for assumptions. For your belief that my life is perfect because it is anything but.”

  Just as quickly as the moisture was cleared from her face, it’s replaced as she speaks. “I’m seventeen, Dalton. One month away from eighteen. Did you know I still sleep with the light on? I can’t…” Her head moves back and forth adamantly. “I can’t sleep in the dark. I haven’t been able to since I was six years old, when Deborah‚ my adoptive mother, found me locked in a room about the size of our pantry—soiled, starved, and terrified. I had been locked in there by my own parents for … well, I don’t know how long. But it was long enough for me to have every single indention in the walls surrounding me burned into my mind forever. For the putrid smell of my own excrement to be permanently singed into my nostrils. For the agony of my own fingernails being completely shredded, for the burn of my skin as it was torn from my hands, and for the torment of my own screaming to haunt my dreams. Every single night, Dalton.”

  Just when I think I couldn’t feel any more pain, my heart rips wide open as I envision each horror she describes. I open my mouth to speak, but she interrupts as she pounds her fist on her own chest as tears now stream full-force down her cheeks. “Do you think I don’t know how it feels to be abandoned, to be betrayed by those who are supposed to love you? To care for you? To continually wonder what you did to deserve the life you were born into as you remain locked in your past by ever present question—why me?”

  Her chin quivers uncontrollably and the sight cripples me. “I feel everything you do. Your pain. Your rage. Your hatred. Everything. I am no better than you. We are one in the same, Dalton, don’t you see that?” My feet remain planted by her insistent eyes as she steps forward and places her palm gently on my chest. “Don’t you feel that?”

  I lift my arm to cover her fingers with mine, clutching them tightly before lifting her hand away and bringing it to my mouth. My lips relish in the heat of her skin as I press them into the center of her palm, inhaling deeply as moisture continues to flow from my eyes, my emotions refusing to be harnessed.

  Her eyes close and she breathes deeply, a tremor working its way through her body before she finally opens them and locks her gaze with mine. She takes another step forward and raises her other hand to cup my cheek, running her thumb along my tear-soaked skin. Her chin quivers as she whispers, “I was broken too, Dalton. Shattered. Unsalvageable.”

  My gaze falls to her lips as they curl upward into a timid smile. “Until the day I met you, that is. The day that every single one of my fractured pieces permanently fused with yours, rebuilding me with renewed strength so I could stand strong and fight for you.” She shakes her head. “I won’t give up on you. I will never stop believing in you. And I will continue to fight for you until the day I die because without you here…” She removes her hand from my lips, bringing my palm to lie flat on her own chest. “I do not exist.”

  Her eyes are full of determination and with absolute ferocity, her belief in me douses the constant inferno which burns within my chest as the pieces begin to combine.

  Anger no longer suffocates me.

  Fear no longer stifles me.

  Pain no longer asphyxiates me.

  I lean in to brush my mouth against hers and as soon as our lips touch, her strength floods me and binds together the fragments my past left behind.

  I put all that I am into this kiss, wordlessly expressing my everlasting gratitude as she heals me. Once it’s mended and whole, I willingly give her the only gift I have to offer in return.

  My heart.

  “BOSS?”

  Sweet smoke is expelled from my lungs, and I enjoy the burn upon its release before stabbing the blunt out in the ashtray in front of me. My jaw tightens in irritation at the complete fucking obliteration of the one and only free second I’ve managed to acquire in the past week. I close my tired eyes and inhale deeply before setting my elbows on the desk below me and threading my fingers together, forming a steeple in front of
my lips before announcing, “Come in, Juan.”

  The door opens and Juan’s bulky frame fills the doorway, obstructing the majority of the light behind him from filtering into the room with his size. His black eyes fall onto my annoyed expression and he hesitates marginally before finally stepping into my office. I smell his fear and it makes me sick, but what I happen to find even more revolting than his anxiety is his need to please, to pacify. His body may depict strength and power, but his mind is feeble and weak—both absolute travesties in my eyes.

  But he remains my second in command because I do not question his loyalty. I do not question his intention. And I do not question his ability to fulfill my requests successfully.

  He’s a killer. My killer. My guarantee that these hands will never be bloodied, therefore never implicated when the only option available to me is disposal of the problem. And he does so without question.

  So I will forgive him his weakness, but he is the only one. Anyone else in my organization, I will not stand for such foolishness. And I have a feeling there will be some spring cleaning going on pretty fucking soon in my crew to weed out potential … problems.

  I gesture at the leather chair in front of me, clasping my hands together as I recline back into my seat. Juan, as usual, does as he’s told then clears his throat. “Jamieson was released on a technicality. I figured you’d want to know.”

  Of course I know. I fucking arranged it.

  Waiting four weeks for his trial has not been easy and cops are never cheap, especially when you have to pay them to lie on the stand under oath. The local police never fail to astound me with their greed. I shake my head internally at the irony. And people think I’m fucking corrupt?

  “Yes,” I respond, my tone terse. “We need to seize him while we can in order to set a very important precedent in response to his organized assault on my boys. Naturally his being in and out of jail the past few months has delayed my reaction, but the time has come.”