Hurt Like Me

by P. A. Brokenshire

  I made it back to the room and piled up my dirty clothes. I checked my cell phone. Dead of course. I'd have to find somewhere to buy a charger and call Derek or a ride share. A blip of a memory from the night before hit me- Derek's shouting. I winced. Yeah, probably a ride share. I'd be lucky if Derek hadn't thrown all my shit out of the apartment. Not that there was much to get rid of. We weren't on the best terms from the last time he felt like I had slighted him.

  A knock on the door made me jump.

  "You good in there, Kid?"

  My heart pounded with my nerves. Again, I considered jumping out the window. I looked out the window. There were bushes and heavy greenery on the other side. I let out a groan. My body already ached. The last thing I needed was more scrapes and bruises. If I wasn't going out that way there really was only one other choice.

  "Garrett?"

  Shit. They knew my name? My mind ran through a thousand possibilities, but I couldn't imagine anyone in Harrow or Junction who would take me in for the night. I had burned a lot of bridges over the last 9 years. Hell, my own family kept me at a healthy distance. The door handle jiggled, and I cursed under my breath. I couldn't avoid the man on the other side of the wall forever. I pulled open the door and came face to face with the last person on the planet I expected John Finley. The father of the girl I had destroyed my senior year of high school.

  Double Shit.

  I recalled the voices I had heard the night before- the angelic voice. For the love of all that's holy...I prayed to a nonexistent god that John had a girlfriend or a wife, but deep down I knew I wasn't that fucking lucky.

  "Come get some breakfast before Avery gets up and hogs all the French toast."

  Triple shit.

  Chapter 13

  Avery- 1 year ago

  I flew into my dad's arms, burying my face in the warm, smoky smell of his shoulder. He smelled like firewood and home. It took everything in me not to cry as I inhaled. I'd been gone for too long. It had been a little over a year and a half. I should have flown home over Christmas. I'd regretted spending the holidays working, but Dad said he had some projects of his own that were taking up his time. I had a feeling he had lied. After a minute or so in his arms, I finally pulled myself away.

  "Got all your stuff?" He asked, giving me a grin and my insides lit up. I wanted to hug him again. I fought the urge.

  "Yeah. Thanks for picking me up so late. I know it's a crazy long drive. I could have rented a car."

  He rolled his eyes at me, drawing my attention to the new wrinkles that were beginning to form there. His hair had more gray in it than I remembered, mixed in with the sandy blond, it even reached his beard. He looked tired and I felt bad that I had made him drive two hours to pick me up, but I knew he would do it again in a heartbeat. He wanted to see me as soon as he could, and I shared that sentiment.

  We made our way to the airport parking garage and I climbed into his white work truck, tools hung haphazardly out of the bed- shovels and 2 x 4s. Same old dad. He had too much faith in his fellow man. Didn't it occur to him that people stole things? I had to practically glue my purse on me when I went out back home. We talked for a bit about my job at the marketing agency, and a few new construction projects. Not long after that we fell into an amiable silence and I felt myself drift into sleep.

  It was the seatbelt slamming into my shoulder that woke me up.

  "Sorry," he said, driving the truck on to the side of the road. The whole cab shook on the gravel. "I think I saw someone back there on the ground."

  I looked around to the nearest mile sign for the highway, Marshall Rd. We were about 15 minutes outside of central Harrow then. I'd taken this road enough. There were a few rural properties out here, but not much else existed between Harrow and Junction.

  "It's the middle of the night. It was probably just a deer or something, old man." I teased him, shaking my head as my heart slowed its frantic beating. I took deep breaths to try and steady it.

  "I don't think so," Dad replied and his voice was full of concern, fear.

  He reached over to the glove box and pulled out a gun. I didn't even know he owed a gun. I'd certainly never seen it before. I guess he could have bought it after I moved. Perhaps he wasn't completely naive in his faith in the common man.

  "Stay in the car and lock the doors," he said.

  He was out of the truck before I could protest. I considered doing as he said, but I couldn't just sit and wait to find out what was going on. My curiosity got the best of me. I climbed down from the passenger seat of the cab and cautiously walked over to where my dad stood over a very still body. He rolled his eyes when he saw me but didn't stop me from coming to stand by him as he lightly kicked the body's leg. He was answered by a groan.

  "You all right, Boy?"

  I leaned down to take his pulse at the back of his neck. The body was hot and clammy. I felt a steady rhythm.

  "He's breathing, but we should call an ambulance."

  My words prompted the guy to roll over with a grumbled refusal. The eyes that met mine made me jump. I would know those shockingly blue eyes anywhere. So bright. They sat in a sunken in face, his once prominent cheekbones hollowed out and his wavy black hair was greasy and plastered to his face. He'd managed to keep his teeth by some sort of miracle. He had clearly spent his time since high school living at the bottom of a bottle or dime bag. He had track marks up his arms, and he'd lost a lot of that pretty muscle he used to have. I should feel satisfied to know my bully had firmly hit rock bottom, but I felt awful seeing him so broken.

  "It's Garrett Hathaway," I said to Dad as I helped him sit up. Garrett's head quickly dropped into my arm; his body tucked into me. There was a soft hum as he tried to look up at me. His eyes were glazed over, unfocused. I doubted he could register anything at the moment. Dad tucked the gun into his waistband and squatted down to our level.

  "Strung out, I reckon," he said to me, smacking his cheek lightly. "Can you hear me, Kid? Do you need me to call someone? Get you some help? Take you to the hospital?"

  "No hospital," he mumbled. "Just need...sleep."

  "Does he live around here?" I asked. I hadn't heard anything about Garrett in years. Then again, the only person I had talked to since graduation was Heather a few years ago. She messaged me on social media trying to sell me some hand cream for a stupid pyramid scheme she was involved in. She worked with her husband as a real estate agent. You would think she would have enough money that she wouldn't have to do that stupid shit.

  Dad shrugged at my question.

  "Last I heard, he was serving a six-month sentence in Harrow for possession. That was like a year ago. I assumed he stayed in Harrow. Haven't seen him around."

  Garrett was snoring in my arms. I wasn't sure why I made the suggestion. Maybe it was because he felt so frail in my arms, vulnerable in a way he'd never been in high school. I couldn't hate him at that moment.

  "Maybe we should bring him back to the house. Let him sleep it off. You've let some of the guys on the crew do that when they were strung out."

  Dad had let dozens of paroles and drug addicts sleep in the guest room after I moved out.

  "I don't know, Fin, seems like a bad idea with you in town," Dad said, running his fingers through his hair nervously.

  "Just for the night."

  He sighed and nodded his head in agreement, tucking his arms under Garrett like he had done to me so many times in my life. As I watched him lift my childhood tormentor, my heart tightened. It ached at the sight. He was as broken as I had been back then. I always thought this is what I wanted, for him to hurt like this, but it just felt wrong.

  Dad carried him back to the truck and laid him across the back bench seat. We rode the rest of the way home in silence, and he deposited him in the guest room bed. I may have stared at him a little longer than necessary before finally crawling into my own bed and passing out for the night.

  I woke up to the smell of breakfast. My stomach growled. I was out of bed and h
alfway down the hall in my sleep shorts and tank top when I remembered the night before. I stopped dead in my tracks. I wasn't sure if I was ready to face Garrett with him fully conscious. It was one thing to see him last night, vulnerable on the street. It was another thing entirely to eat breakfast with him, to make small talk. I didn't even know if I could make small talk with Garrett. It had taken years for me to get over that night at Trevor's. I'd been the only Freshman in my dorm room that didn't pant after every guy that walked through the door. I didn't even have a boyfriend until Junior year. Not that it worked out.

  "More toast?"

  Dad's voice brought me out of my own thoughts. I would have to pretend for his sake. After all, I had been the one that wanted to bring him here.

  "No, thank you, Sir."

  "Stop calling me Sir," Dad grumbled. "I told you, just call me John."

  "Sorry, Sir."

  I'd never heard Garrett sound so defeated before. He'd clearly changed, at least it seemed that way. It took a lot out of me to step into the kitchen, but I refused to look in his direction. I smiled at my dad.

  "French toast!"

  I gave him a hug and proceeded to pile food on my plate. He had made my favorite and I'd choke it down if it was the last thing I did. I sat down at the table and only then did I look his way. Garrett was staring at me with a look of pure fear, but his eyes looked so damn sad. He had showered, and now free of dirt he looked a bit more like the Garrett that I had known all those years ago. He was skinnier of course, but he was still the same beautiful shadow. The darkness had simply caught up with him.

  "Only the best for my Fin."

  "Fin?" Garret asked softly, clearly confused.

  "An old nickname," I said, shoving a forkful of syrup coated toast into my mouth. It tasted so sweet, too sweet for my current mood. I took a sip of coffee to wash it down. The bitter taste cut some of the sweetness. "Feeling better?"

  "Yeah," he said quietly. He looked away from me and I didn't push the subject.

  I tried to avoid looking in his direction as I ate, but I found my eyes wandering back to him. He was looking at anything except me. I wondered if he felt ashamed about eating at my father's table. I doubted it. He probably hadn't thought about high school in years. That night probably never crossed his mind. Not like it did mine. I thought about it more than I wanted to and about the snickering in the halls for months before graduation. I could remember opening my locker to leashes and collars that would fall out and the way Heather looked at me with pity every time we crossed each other in the hall. I sincerely refused to believe he thought of me at night when he touched himself either, the way I had for years. Intense shame washed over me. I let my tormentor so deep into my head that I had spent years digging him out. It was impossible to separate the different parts of him. The part of me that hated him and the part of me that lusted after him, remembering those moments in that dark room.

  "I appreciate breakfast, but I should really be going," he said, gathering his clothes from a pile on the floor. Dad gave a nod but handed him a slip of paper.

  "If you need anything, Kid, give me a call."

  Garrett crumpled up the paper but shoved it in his pocket. Dad didn't try to stop him when he walked out the door and neither did I. There was nothing else to say. I wanted to tell my Dad that he wouldn't bother to call. At least I really hoped he wouldn't. I didn't know what I would do if Dad decided to make him his next project. Bringing him home was a stupid idea. I washed my plate and disappeared to my room.

  Thoughts of Garrett swirled in my brain. I pulled out the old print out from deep under my mattress, thankful that Dad would never dream to invade my privacy and remembered what it was like to have him touch me. I'd never experienced anything close to how he had made me feel. It took me a good thirty minutes to hype myself up enough to shove the photo back in its hiding place and get ready for the day. By the time I was out of the shower the guest room sheets were already in the wash and it was like it had never happened. The shadow that was once Garrett had disappeared as quickly as he had appeared. In just that brief time though he had burrowed back into my mind like a tapeworm. I hated him and still, still I wanted him. I was seriously demented.

  Chapter 14

  Garrett- 1 year ago

  It took a good two hours for me to walk to Laura and Robert's house. The two-story blue farmhouse on the lake had been freshly painted at some point. I got lucky, stupid fucking lucky, that no one was home. It was a Monday so every decent, respectable, person was at work. More dumb luck. Laura hadn't moved the spare key from its spot on top of the electrical box. I hadn't been back to the house for well over 2 years. Not since before I was arrested. The smell hit me hard. Lavender and lemon. Home.

  Laura had moved some of the furniture around, but it was relatively the same. I took the stairs two at a time and meandered into the master suite where I grabbed Robert's charger. My hand shook around the phone as it came to life. I would need a hit soon, something, anything, or the memories would start up again. While my phone charged, I made my way to the kitchen and dug around in the liquor cabinet. There was nothing except a half empty bottle of Kahlua. Gross. It would have to do. I poured it over ice and sipped, walking around the empty house. There were pictures of Chris and me in our teen years spattering the living room. I even smiled in a few of them. One in particular was taken on the dock of the lake. My chest was bare. It was weird as shit to see my skin before the tattoo.

  I rubbed the left side of my chest absentmindedly. I remembered how much it hurt to have the raven tattooed there shortly after graduation. The burn was exquisite. I wanted more, but that was before I ran out of cash to spare. Now all my money went to the drugs. Every spare dollar I could make was for another shot, or snort, or pill. It's not exactly like the jobs were rolling in with my prison record either so money was scarce. I stole more than anything, pawned shit.

  That thought sparked an idea.

  I could raid Laura's jewelry while everyone was gone. I was about halfway up the stairs before I felt sick to my stomach. When did I become such a piece of shit? I stopped mid stride and sat on the steps, peering down at the nasty liquor in my glass, and I fucking cried. The tears felt foreign on my cheeks. It had been a long time since I had shed a single tear and once I started I found it hard to stop. I wondered how I had gotten to that point, how I had let the voice and memories control my life. I was a shell of a human, always on the hunt for another high. That was not who I wanted to be. I pulled my hands through my hair, dragging my fingers across my face as the tears continued their silent assault. I had just wanted to make it stop. There was nothing left of me.

  "What are you doing here?"

  Shit. I brushed away the trail of tears from my face. How long had I been sitting on the stairs crying like a little bitch? Chris looked up at me from the bottom of the banister, his camera slung over his neck and his hair artfully styled. He had really grown into himself in his twenties. He'd come out to the family about four years ago as if it hadn't been obvious for years. I had seen a few photos from his courthouse elopement at the beginning of the summer on the mantel. His husband was as picture perfect as he was. Dark hair slicked back, high cheekbones, and dark eyes. I'd met him once, before I went to prison. Him and Chris had made me some Korean dumplings, Spence's family recipe. It was amazing. He was amazing. I'm glad Chris had someone to lean on.

  I didn't know what to say so I just shrugged. He narrowed his eyes. My brother didn't trust me anymore. Not that I could blame him. If I hadn't stopped myself, I would have a pocket full of jewelry. I'd regret that in a few hours when I had no money for another hit.

  "You should leave," he said, tucking his hands firmly in his pockets nervously. "They can't take care of you anymore. It took months for Mom and Dad to get their lives back together after that stunt you pulled last year."

  Last year. He meant when they paid for a stint in rehab after I was paroled. I was able to stay clean just long enough to pass the drug test
s and get through probation, but the memories had been too much. He didn't understand what it was like. The counselors said it was PTSD. I didn't give a shit what they called it. Their coping mechanisms didn't work. Not like the liquor, not like the drugs.

  "Yeah, I- I've got to go anyway," I said, standing from my spot on the stairs and turning towards the second floor. I left the empty glass on the steps. "I just have to get my phone first. It's on Robert's charger. I have to call a ride."

  He followed me up the stairs and into the master. His eyes never left me. I saw him glance at the jewelry box in the corner after I unhooked the phone, and I was filled with immense shame. I didn't want him to think that way of me. I was a burden to him, a worry. I absorbed every bit of darkness when we were kids so it wouldn't touch him. Now my darkness was so vast that he couldn't even shine a light on it.

  I sent a text to Trevor's cousin, Marco. He owed me a favor for not ratting out Trevor in prison. Granted, it didn't save Trevor from getting locked up right around the time I got out, but I wasn't a snitch, and I could have been. It would have been easy to turn him in for some time off my sentence. He'd gotten pretty deep into dealing when his parents cut him off briefly for knocking up a maid. It was a scandal they couldn't afford. It had cost them a lot of money to buy her silence.