by Brannon, M.
I open the bedroom door and stare at the bed. Blankets strewn about, dirty clothes spilling over the hamper, but no Presley. She’s not here. Where the hell is she? She’s always here. She hasn’t left the house in weeks. Where the hell would she be now? I pull my cell phone from my pocket. No missed calls or text messages. There’s nothing and my anxiety just goes into overdrive. I turn on my heels and move toward the living where Darcie and Delilah are sitting on the couch, rehearsing what they will say to make Presley go get the help she needs. Their eyes move to me, looking nervous and confused at the same time.
“She’s not here,” I say in astonishment. I hope nothing has happened to her. What if someone broke in and took her? I look to the front door and don’t notice anything out of the ordinary. The door is intact and the apartment is put together just as it was when I left it this morning for work.
“Well, where the hell is she? Could she be next door?” Darcie asks while moving from the couch into the kitchen then walking to the back of the apartment.
“No. Mrs. Fields is out of town visiting family,” I answer, just as confused as everyone else.
“Well, let’s simply call her cell phone and see where she’s at.” Delilah pulls her hands out of her pocket, retrieving her phone.
“You can’t,” Darcie says from the bedroom. She moves up the hall, waving Presley’s cell phone in her hand.
“What the he—” I’m instantly interrupted from the noise coming from the other side of the front door. The sound of loud stomping and moaning is filtering into the apartment. We all look at each other then walk to the door, opening it.
I’m completely taken back when the creepy asswipe who hangs around the pool has Presley’s arm slung over his shoulder as he drags her up the stairs. She is completely out of it, almost as if she’s severely drunk. I’ve never seen her this way. Her feet are stepping, but they aren’t working of their own accord. Her hair is falling from its bun, her clothes are crumpled and mascara is running underneath her eyes. My nerves turn to anger at the sight my girlfriend in this fucker’s arms.
“Presley!” Delilah shouts from behind me. I snap my arm out, not allowing her to move in front of me. I’m on the verge of destroying this guy as soon as I get Presley away from him. I don’t need her getting hurt, too. “What are you doing with her?” Her voice cracks.
His eyes are black as night as he stares serrated daggers in my direction. He doesn’t say anything, just slowly keeps bringing Presley up the stairs and down the long walkway to our apartment. Darcie slips by my side and rushes to help bring Presley up the rest of the stairs. Next thing I know, Delilah is crawling under my arm, escaping by me to join Darcie. They both pull Presley’s arms over their shoulders and drag her the rest of the way into the apartment. She’s moaning and babbling, making no sense.
I focus my attention to the asshole that had my girlfriend wrapped in his arms. Say goodnight, dickweed, because I’m going to fuck you up. I start walking purposefully toward the guy with only one thought, destruction of his face. I crack my knuckles and quickly shift my neck back and forth loosening my muscles.
Five feet.
Four feet.
Three feet.
Almost there.
Two feet.
“Hold it.” The creep stops me instantly when he pulls a nine millimeter pistol from the back of his pants. It’s cocked and ready to blow me away if I move another inch. “I have no problem blowing your face off, so I suggest you back the fuck off me and let me leave.”
I start to walk backwards and can’t resist having the last word. “I don’t know what you were doing with my girl, but I can guarantee you’ve just made a horrible mistake, asshole. The next time, you won’t be seeing me; you’ll be feeling me bust your knee caps.” My glare is murderous as I speak to him with my eyes. I don’t know this dude’s story, but if I find out he’s been involved with Presley, in any way, he’s dead.
He merely shrugs me off and walks backwards down the stairs, gun still pointed at my chest. I lean over the side railing and watch him exit the security gate and blend into the blackness of night. Finally, I can release a breath. Presley, I shout in my mind then run back to the apartment.
Darcie is pacing back and forth, screaming every profanity in her vocabulary. “Fuck! This makes perfect sense. I can’t believe I didn’t see it.”
I turn my attention toward my girlfriend who is haphazardly sitting on the couch. Her eyes are blood shot and she can barely keep her eyelids open. She tries to talk, but with every sentence she speaks, she falls asleep halfway through, completely incoherent. She’s just speaking nonsense. Delilah is tapping her in the face, trying to get her to wake up. Presley mumbles gibberish in response before she once again falls back asleep.
“What in the Sam hell is wrong with her? Is she drunk? She’s completely out of it,” Delilah says while peeling loose strands of sweaty hair off Presley’s face. “God, her skin is all clammy. I think we should call an ambulance. She…she doesn’t look well at all.”
“It’s not an ambulance she needs. I think she will snap out of it soon.” Darcie’s legs begin to pace as she looks between Delilah and me. “Did you see it? Because I sure as hell didn’t fucking see it!”
“What?” Delilah and I ask in unison.
“I didn’t see it. Man…I should’ve seen it,” Darcie keeps repeating herself over and over again. “She’s not fucking drunk, I can tell you that.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I kneel in front of Presley, snapping my fingers, trying to get her to wake up long enough to tell me what’s wrong with her.
“Do you have any idea who that fucking guy was?” Darcie shouts as she points to the front door. Her feet keep pacing in agitation and her hands are fisting at her sides.
“Will you keep your Goddamn voice down,” I snap, pointing to the back hall where Mia is sound asleep in her bed. “Who was he?”
“That was Carter fucking Brown.” I look at her, completely lost. I’ve never heard of him. If she knows him, how come I don’t? She expels an irritated sigh then says, “Only the biggest fucking heroin suppler in town.”
“What?” I whisper, confounded by her words. Rapid breaths are causing my chest to heave up and down. I should have beaten him until he couldn’t walk. Did he do this to her? So help me God, I will break him in half if he is the reason why she’s incoherent on our couch.
My head starts to spin. My limbs are weakening with every thought. I’m trying to process what Darcie just told me. Heroin? Not my Presley, she wouldn’t! Presley couldn’t be addicted to heroin. She knows exactly how I feel about drugs, especially heroin. My fucking waste for a mother sold me for heroin and now Darcie is telling me she’s just like her. It’s not true! I won’t believe it. I can’t believe it because that would mean she has become the person I despise most.
“I don’t believe it! She’s just really drunk or something,” I deny. “She knows…about my birth mom. Presley would nev—”
“Drunk? Really, Drake? If she were drunk, she’d be reeking of booze.” I stop to inhale, knowing the smell of alcohol is not present in the air, only smoke and men’s cologne. “Think about it. She’s completely out of control, losing weight and she looks like fucking death. She’s a completely different person.” Darcie walks over to Presley’s limp body and nods to Delilah. “Lift up her sleeves.”
“What… why?” Delilah’s voice is weak and trembling with the onslaught of emotions.
“Track marks. If she’s shooting up, she’ll have track marks on her arms.” Darcie walks to the other side of Presley, trying to get to her sleeve, but I won’t let her.
“Don’t!” My chest is heaving from anger and denial. “Don’t fucking touch her!” I won’t let her pull up her sleeves because it’s not true. She can’t be a drug addict. Not Presley.
“Drake! She’s a fucking junkie!” Darcie shouts back.
Rage fueled, I grab a hold of her arms and violently push her away from Presley.
Darcie lands on her ass as she braces her fall with her hands. The shocked expression passes through Darcie’s face and I can tell she wants to punch me in the jaw, but she doesn’t. She makes it to her feet and shakes off her anger.
“She’s not a junkie. She’s not,” I whisper in the air. My mind will not grasp what she is telling me and I don’t want it to. My chest is tight and my stomach is sinking further and further into the pits of my despair.
“Prove it.” Darcie points to Presley’s arm. “Pull up her sleeve and tell me there are no track marks because I can guarantee you will find them.” Darcie stands rigid in from of me, burning the truth into my eyes as she attempts to prove her point.
My gut is doing summersaults, flipping around and around as I reach my hand to the end of Presley’s sleeve. Her hands are cold and skin is slick with sweat. I run my fingers under the material and slowly gather the cuffed end, sliding the cotton up. The shirt doesn’t even make it to her elbow before I see the damage inching the way up her skin. Small needle-sized puncture holes are surrounded in bruises. Her pale skin is painted in bruises old and new. Some are greenish-brown in color and others are purple, obviously newer. The freshest wound has dried blood pooled around it.
Delilah’s hands move to her mouth as she whispers, “Oh, sweet Jesus.”
The weight of my body collapses onto the floor and I feel like the wind was just sucked out of me. I put my elbow on my knees and rake my hands over the top of my head. It feels like it weighs five hundred pounds, and just like my heart, the weight is crushing.
How could I not see this? She’s had all the signs lately, but I didn’t see them. Or did I just ignore them? Deep down, I knew there was something horribly wrong with her. I allowed Presley to push me away when I should have been holding on tighter. This should’ve never happened. I’m such a fucking idiot. I’m the reason she started to use because I pushed her away. If I only told her I would do anything physically possible to protect her, she never would’ve allowed the drugs to consume her life. This was my fault. I was blind to everything she’s been doing and now look at her. She’s an addict.
Presley
My head is spinning like a top, at any moment I feel like it’s going to spin clean off my neck. And my stomach, God, it hurts so much. I feel like I’ve been kicked in the gut. Every movement twinges with pain and sets the motions of bile to rise from the depths of my throat. I slide my hands up to my face, running them over my forehead, and dig the pads of my fingers into my eyes. I feel like I have lead weights holding my lids down and I’m certain it’s impossible to open them up. However, I immediately know where I’m at. It’s my apartment.
I can smell Drake present in the room with me, close to me. My body is trained to know when he’s near; the electricity in the air sends signals to my unconscious whenever he is close to me. I can feel him, but I’m scared to open my eyes. I don’t want to see his pain anymore.
“Presley, wake up.” His tone is different. It’s not angry or disgusted like it normally is; his tone is meek and full of disappointment.
Acting of their own accord, my lids start fluttering, slightly cracking, allowing the bright light of the sun to send a jolt of pain into my brain. “It’s too fucking bright in here,” I say, not knowing where here is in my apartment.
I haven’t fully opened my eyes. The sound of vertical blinds slide across their tracks; scraping metal and thin flaps of plastic tapping into each other. It’s significantly darker, but my eyes are still closed. I don’t want to open them and face whatever lies ahead of me.
I run my hands down the side of the soft pallet I’m lying on and can feel the rough plaid patterns sewn into the fabric. I’m home, lying on the couch and Drake is staring at me. I can feel his eyes glaring back at me.
The sound of the front door opens as I hear Darcie say, “Is she awake yet?” Oh shit. If Darcie is here, then something happened last night. I try to stir up any memories after I kissed Carter, but I come up blank. The last thing I remember is lying to Carter, convincing him I’m attracted to him. All for one more hit before I came home. Oh my God, what did I do?
A soft, gentle hand slides down my arm and Delilah’s voice floods my ear. “Hey sweetie. Come on, let’s get you up and get some food in you.”
Okay, it’s time to open my eyes and face the music. They’re here for a reason and treating me like I’m broken. They have something to tell me. Drake’s probably here to break up with me and Delilah is here to soften the blow. Honestly, I was wondering when this was going to happen. He’s been way too patient with me and I’ve been way too evil to him. I’ve finally pushed him to leave.
I brace my arms underneath my chest and slowly push my body to a seated position. My eyes are still closed. I’m too terrified to open them. I can’t look at him right now, knowing how I’ve broken him. Delilah said it yesterday. He’s broken and it’s entirely my fault.
The cushion of the couch concaves next to me and his warm arm secures me in his embrace. The breaking sobs begin as I feel my eyes leak tears down my cheeks and into my hands clasped tightly in my lap, bracing myself for the inevitable.
Drake leans over and kisses the side of my head. “Shhhh…it will be okay, baby.”I fall in closer to his strong arm and rest my head on his chest. It won’t be okay. Nothing will ever be okay because he will be gone and I will be dead. “We’ll get you help, baby. Shhhh… just stop crying, please.” Drake’s voice is cracked and fueled with emotion. “Just tell me why. Why are you doing this to yourself?”
What does he want to know; my inner demons, my lack of love for Mia or my uncontrollable addiction with a needle? Does he want me to admit the turmoil my mind goes through every time I close my eyes? What will he say when I tell him that for the last three years, Robert has haunted every minute of my life and only when he touched me did the pain subside until Mia was born? He can’t help me. No one can. Heroin is the only way I can face the murderous eyes of Robert in my dreams and my inability of being a mother to Mia.
When I finally open my eyes, I tilt my chin up and meet his gaze. His eyes have turned into melted chocolate as they glisten over with tears. He’s trying not to cry. Drake never cries. With all of the hardships he’s had to overcome in his life, I’ve only ever known him to cry twice. What the hell have I done? Delilah sits on the other side of me with a hot cup of tea in her hand. She sets it on the coffee table and rubs small circles on my back.
“We know, Presley.” Darcie’s voice comes across harsh and full of hurt.
I lick my dry, cracked lips, grabbing at my pockets for my Chapstick and drag my eyes up to hers. “What do you know?”
“That you’re a fucking junkie,” she snaps back at me. Instantly I sit up and meet all of their eyes. I look down to my sleeve and see my secret has been exposed. The damage to my veins is staring everyone in the face, shouting, look at me, look at me. I’m uncomfortable as hell and I want to leave. I want to go to Carter’s and take all the pain away. I want to be numb. I want to be numb forever.
“Darcie!” Drake yells at her then stands as he runs his hands over his short brown hair. The protruding bags under his eyes shows me the little sleep he got last night and his clothes are disheveled. “Why are you doing this to yourself?”
I release a deep breath and start to spill my inner most secrets. There’s no point anymore. I’m knee deep in a mess I can’t fix. I’m just…done. “I’ve been lying to you for the last three years. I was never fine after everything that happened in that house.” Drake’s eyes drop to the floor and his throat bobs as he swallows the lump trying to rise. “Every time I close my eyes, I see his. I see Robert’s glaring back at me with the razor blade dripping with my blood. I see the smoke of his cigars clouding the room and taste it in my mouth. I hear his words whispered into my ear, ‘You’re only bait. I’ll put you out of your misery soon enough’.
“All the evil feelings built up and began consuming my every thought. Thoughts even you can’t takeaway anymore.” I gl
ance over to Drake then back down to the floor. I can’t look him in the eye when I admit the last part. “It helps me cope with those nightmares and numbs me from the guilt.” I don’t know if I can say it. This part will be what finally breaks him. Taking a deep breath, I let the truth be told. “…and the guilt I have over being a bad mother.” Delilah sputters, sobs and folds herself in half. “Mia deserves better than me.”
Drake’s shoulders slump forward and it takes everything he has to keep himself on his feet. The darkest feelings I’ve been battling with for the last two plus years are finally released. However it was what I last said that killed him inside. He knows what it’s like to be abandoned by a mother…a mother who loved heroin more than her own child. Now that’s what I am to him, the mother of his child who loves drugs more than her own baby.
“Why didn’t you say anything? I could’ve helped you.” His voice is barely above a whisper.
“You believed the lie and I didn’t…didn’t want to disappoint you. Once I lied, how was I supposed to tell you how scared I really was? Then you would have known how messed up I am. I was trying to be strong, like Darcie, for everyone. Then, the next thing I know, I’m pregnant and every single bad feeling living in my body overtook me and I needed it all to go away.”
“Presley, honey, we need to get you some help.” Delilah’s words are soothing, but frustrating.
“I… I feel better now. I don’t need help. It’s not that big of a problem. I can shake it, I know I can,” I utter, hoping to convince them and myself I’m not what Darcie said I am, a junkie.
Darcie huffs in the air, trying to say something smart when Drake cuts her off, “We saw your arms, baby. It’s a pretty big problem. Delilah found a program sponsored by the hospital where her dad works. You can go to Memphis with her and get help for this and your depression.”