by Black, T. E.
How ironic.
"I'm just sad, princess. I miss my mom," I tell her, my heart squeezing in my chest at the mention of my mother.
Things haven't been the same without her. It's fucking rough waters for me right now. Every time I close my eyes, I see her shining face. I see her smile. I see her generous heart that just gave and gave until there was nothing left of her. I see the woman who tried to make me into a good man. A woman who loved me with everything she had. I see my mother, and then as soon as she's there, she's gone. The images of the funeral replace the ones when she was alive and well.
She moves up on her knees, placing her tiny hand on my tattooed one as she leans over to kiss my cheek gently.
"I love you, Daddy. I’m sorry you miss your mom, but you have us. We love you."
I wanna do right by this little girl in front of me. I wanna teach her things a father should teach. Although I'm not her biological father, she’s my daughter.
"I love ya too, little princess."
The doorbell cuts off our conversation, and I know it’s Bruce. I really want to tell the piece of shit to leave. He doesn't deserve to spend time with Abby, but unfortunately, she has to go with him.
Abby and I both stand, and I help her put her pink backpack on as we move toward the door. Abby holds my hand the entire way, repeating how she wants to stay here with me, with us. It's killing me. I never thought seeing her off for a week would be so damn hard, but it is.
I swing the door open, and Abby squeezes my hand tightly once more. There stands Abby's father looking like he has more money than the President does. He's in a suit I know costs a damn fortune, and the Rolex on his wrist doesn't lie one fucking bit. He's doing well for himself, and here Shay and Abby live in this shitty apartment.
"’Sup?" I greet him, never letting go of Abby.
His eyes take me in, and the smirk playing on his lips makes me want to smack it right off his ugly mug.
"Nice to meet you. You must be my daughter's father. Trent, is it?"
He holds out his hand for me to shake, but I silently decline. If Abby weren't here, I'd beat the piss out of this fucker. He seems like he needs a good slap in the mouth. Maybe then he'd learn some damn respect.
"Yeah, I am. Unlike you, I actually care about her. You just choose to rough her mom up instead. Shay had to work, but I'm handing Abby off tonight. Make sure you call and all that jazz. You know the deal, and if she needs anything, she has a cell phone to call us."
“Excuse me? Rough her up? I’ve never laid a hand on Abby or Shay.”
I scoff, my hands balling into fists. This isn’t the right moment to have this conversation with him. Not when Abby’s here.
“Yeah. Keep on telling that lie, buddy. We’ll get to talk real soon about it. Like I said, Shay’s working, so I’m here in her place.”
"Where’s Shay working nowadays?" he questions, reaching for Abby's hand.
Abby hesitantly takes hold of it, but not before telling me she loves me and she'll talk to me tomorrow.
"None of ya business. If she wants you to know, she'll tell ya," I snap.
"Yeah. You ready, Abs?"
She flicks her eyes to me, a dull shine breaking my damn heart. She apparently doesn't wanna go with Bruce, and I don't blame her.
"I guess." She sighs.
Before they turn to leave, I squat down and grab Abby's hand from Bruce. I look at her face, her eyes lined with translucent tears threatening to fall free.
"I love ya, little princess," I tell her, kissing her on the forehead.
"I love you too, Daddy."
I watch the two of them walk out, and I close the door behind them softly. I brace my hands on either side it, leaning my forehead against the middle. Letting out a long sigh, I curse myself for feeling so guilty about letting Abby go. I should’ve never let her go with Bruce. I know something’s off; I can fucking feel it.
I gain my composure through deep breaths, and before I know it, I'm sprinting toward my jacket. My leather jacket not only keeps me warm, but it also keeps my baggy hidden in a very secretive inside pocket where no one will find it.
I rip it from its place in the hallway closet, tearing at the zipper while my hands dig for the baggy. I know I can avoid all these fucked-up feelings I'm having with a few lines. That's all I fucking need.
With the baggy in my hand, I walk at a quick pace heading to the bathroom where I plan to forget all of the shit.
Patty Griffin – “Forgiveness”
I LIED WHEN I told Trent I had to work tonight. The truth is I needed to get away for a little while. All I needed was one day when I wasn't reminded of how badly Trent needs rehab. I needed one day to forget the fact that this man, who’s amazing to my daughter, is also getting high more often than not now.
I knew what it was before, but it's getting out of hand now. I don't know how much more I can take without telling him I know about his little hobby. I feel like I'm at my damn breaking point here. How can loving someone hurt this much?
I'm so worn down. I swear if I have to keep one more secret, then my vault is going to explode and let out all of its truths. I can't do it. Eventually, I'm going to break down. It's only a matter of time.
I stand anxiously in front of my apartment, my palms sweating with nervous energy. I need to do this. I repeat the mantra in my mind, hoping it makes me feel better about what I'm about to do, but I doubt it will actually work.
Deep breath …
My fingers grip the door handle as I walk inside. Everything looks just as I left it with the exception of Trent and Abby. I know Abby went with Bruce, but I imagined Trent would still be here.
I shrug out of my jacket, setting it down on the back of the brown leather recliner and listen for any sign of life, but there's none. I shouldn't be surprised he left. He apparently thought I was working. I know it was a shitty thing to do, to just sneak out, but what the hell am I supposed to do? I love Trent; there's no doubt. I've never doubted I love him for one second. Trent is my family. He may hurt me without knowing it, but he's never intentionally done something bad to me without an explanation or apology. My time away from him tonight had me thinking about how fucked up our situation is. I need to tell him the truth. I need to tell him I know he's using, and I need to tell him what I do as a second job. The only way to save us is to tell the truth.
I realize I'm zoning out again. My thoughts have been taking over a lot lately, and it's messing with my head. I've found myself staring into outer space on more than one occasion. I need to occupy myself with something else until Trent comes back—if he comes back. A shower and some late night TV seem to be my winning option here. So I do just that. I head to my room, grabbing some clean clothes, and stride to the bathroom to let the steam cleanse my soul.
In front of the door, with my fingers on the handle, I wonder why the hell it's closed. We never close doors in this house. I twist the handle upon hearing a small sniffle, only to be stopped dead in my tracks when I get a full view inside.
Trent is leaned over my bathroom counter, snorting white lines off the top of it. My mind barely even notices what he's actually doing. Instead, I get momentarily distracted as to why the hell he's here when I thought he left. Why didn't he say something when he heard me come in the apartment?
Oh. That's right. He was too busy getting high.
I look up, my eyes no doubt wide with anger. My heart stops beating momentarily, my lungs cutting off the air flow I need right now. He looks like an entirely different person than I've known. His face is pale, his expression filled with regret. The look in his eyes tells me he's already sorry without having to say it. He knows he fucked up. He's getting high in my home, where my daughter sleeps at night. He has drugs under my goddamned roof, and God only knows how long he's been sneaking them in here. What if the fucking cops found out? God. If something ever happened to Abby ... I snap. I freak the hell out, storming through the open door while I use all of my force to throw him on his ass.
"You lying motherfucker!" I scream through my tears. "You lying, scheming motherfucker! How dare you bring those under my roof!"
He's a deer in headlights. He doesn't move with the hopes I don't see him, but I see him all right. I see his nose covered in white powder, and his hands shaking like he's freezing. I see the crazy look in his eyes he gets when he's high. I see the sweat trickling from his hairline, flowing over his brow, and dripping off the tip of his nose. I see him. I knew he was using, but to see him bent over my counter, the straw in his nose, standing there like everything is fine and dandy, wrecks me. It breaks me. It completely shatters me.
"You goddamn scumbag. How could you do this? I knew you were using, but you're doing it in my house, Trent!" I scream.
My tears have a life of their own as they continue to fall, burning my cheeks. They mark them in black mascara. I'm sure they're leaving streaks as my face aches in agonizing pain. My chest constricts, my lungs twisting around each other, fighting for the air they both crave to breathe.
I hate him.
"Baby, it's not what it looks like. Fuck! Please! Just calm down!" he pleads.
I can't hear it.
I won't hear it.
I refuse it.
He isn't allowed to give me excuses right now. The fact he can say, "It isn't what it looks like," is total bullshit. It's exactly what it looks like. He's getting high in my bathroom in my apartment. I’m beyond pissed. I find myself starting to scream at him in a tunnel of fury.
Thank God Abby isn't home right now.
"It's not what it looks like? Seriously, Trent? How can you even say that! You're snorting coke off my bathroom counter, for fuck’s sake!"
I don't give him the chance to answer. I stalk toward him using my weight to push him backward, his body catching himself before he falls against the glass shower door.
"Shay, please baby! Stop! Let me explain!" he begs, trying to reach out to me.
I’d love to hear the explanation. I'm sure he has a damn good reason for bringing drugs in my house. His only explanation is he’s a fucking drug addict. He doesn't give a damn about anybody but himself.
I'm done.
He picks himself up, staring at me with apologetic eyes. I try to wipe away the tears I cry for him. I erase the feeling of my heart falling apart. I erase Trent entirely.
"Get out! Take your shit and get the fuck out!"
He moves toward me, but I take one step back. He reaches out to touch me, but I flinch at his movement. I haven't ever flinched at the man I loved, but now, I'm not even sure who he is. He’s obviously a train wreck, and I won't bring this into Abby's life any more than I already have.
"Babe. I'm so fucking sorry. Just ... Fuck!" he screams, his voice bouncing off the tiled walls.
"Don't do this, Shay. I'll fucking stop. I won't touch that shit again if it means I'm gonna lose ya in the process. Please, baby. I fucking love you."
I can't do it. As I stare into his wide, pleading eyes, the anger fades and sadness sets in. He's killing me. He's slowly sucking the life out of me. He's draining me of the life I once had. He's destroying me.
I turn away, my feet moving as fast as they possibly can. I just need to get away from him. I need a second to breathe, and I can't do it around him right now.
Once I’m in the hall, I sprint to my bedroom, shutting the door to lock myself in. I don't even make it to the bed. Instead, my body collapses, sliding itself down against my bedroom door. I cry for what feels like the first time in my life. I cry hysterically. Everything hurts—my eyes, my face, my head, my chest. It all hurts so damn bad. My cries turn into wails laced with pain, hurt, and undoubtedly stress. I feel fragile. I feel like, at any moment, Trent is going to barge in here and shatter what's left of me. I can't handle it. I beat my fists off my carpeted floor, letting out screams full of hysterics. Through my mental breakdown, I hear a thump on the other side of my door, followed by Trent's whispers.
"I'm so fucking sorry, baby."
I don't reply. I remain still, hugging my knees with my arms, and attempt to sniffle back tears. I close my eyes, resting my head on top of my knees, letting myself remember moments of how we began.
"Who the fuck is this?"
I stare at the man standing in front of Gunner, my new co-worker, with total adoration. He's gorgeous. The first thing I notice are his intoxicating eyes. They suck me in without warning, showing me his soul. He blinks, breaking our connection, and I follow down the rest of him, gushing internally over his perfect facial features. His jawline is dominant, yet the scruff covering it is a perfect accent. It makes him look manly and edible. Ink covers his body—his arms, legs, running up on his neck where the words ‘Never let them see you fall' swirls in an elegant script.
"I'm Shay Kirby. Nice to meet you. I assume you're Trent? Gunner's already told me all about you." I reach my hand out to him.
Gunner moves in a little closer to me, almost as if he wants to protect me from Trent, but I step away from him. I can take care of myself, and as sweet as it is, I don't need him. I've been on my own for a while now, and I can handle this guy if I need to.
Trent smiles now and the whites of his teeth blow me away. He's like something I've never seen before. No doubt he's a handsome man. He's the best-looking guy I've seen in a while.
"You're a fucking ten, Shay Kirby. Gunner sure knows how to pick ‘em. Ya got a man?" he questions.
Nope. He doesn't ask me if I want a man. He only asks me if "I got one." Lucky for him, I'm in a damn good mood right now. Otherwise, his ass would be on the floor pinned underneath the heel of my red pumps.
"No, I don't have a man. I don't need a man to take care of me. I do just fine by myself. Thanks for asking," I state smugly.
He grins as if he's just won the lottery, and it instantly pisses me off. Please don't make some dumb remark. The last thing I want to do is beat the shit out my boss the first time I meet him, and right now, that's looking like a pretty good possibility.
"Ya need someone to clean the cobwebs out for ya, kitten? I happen to be an expert in chimney sweeping. Although, sometimes I make things a little dirtier than before I got my hands on them."
Fuck my life. He has to open his mouth. Why couldn't he just stand there and look pretty? All he had to do was stand there and keep his trap shut. I could’ve at least thought about not punching him in the face before my first day of work rolled around. But now, he's done for.
I feel my body twitching with the need to wipe the smug look off his face, and I let the feeling win. I bring my hand up, rearing it back so quickly, he doesn't even know it’s coming. The second my hand connects with his cheek, I hear Gunner gasp in shock while Trent just stands there, his mouth agape.
I just beat the shit out of my boss.
I’m so getting fired.
My mind drifts back to the first time we said, "I love you,” and tears of happiness flow free. My memories flip through my head like a picture book as I watch our relationship blossoming and then dying to what it is right now. I know we're a disaster. I know we're going to destroy each other, but I can't help the way my heart feels. I love him as much as I love Abby. My life without him wouldn't be the same.
I know he's still sitting outside my door, although he doesn't make any noise. I pick myself up, mentally preparing myself for what might be waiting on the other side for me, but I still do it. I go through the motions—fingers on the handle, using two fingers to turn the lock, turning the hand slowly, and opening it a little so Trent doesn't fall into me.
He looks up at me, and I see his reddened eyes, tears highlighting their bright color. That's all it takes. My tears are flowing again, and I run for the safety of my bed, getting as far away from him as possible.
I watch Trent move toward me, and he looks terrible. His face is pale, his eyes red, and his hands shaking with each step. He reaches me, his fingers softly sliding over the top of my hand, and I lose everything I thought I had in the first place.
&
nbsp; "Why does this hurt so bad, Trent? It shouldn't fucking hurt this bad, but it's killing me. You're killing me. I love you so fucking much, but I just can't do this anymore."
Trent kneels in front of me, his hands brushing against my cheeks to wipe away the tears. I've learned not to take that gesture for granted. When he's sober, he's my everything. When he's high, he's nothing. I love one man who’s two entirely different people. It took this, us stuck at an emotional intersection, for me to figure it out. A sick game of tug of war to make him see how badly this is breaking me.
"It's always gonna hurt with me, babe. I won't lie to ya. I'm so fucking addicted to coke, and it's always gonna come first. I refuse to feed to ya bullshit lines anymore. I'm going to keep hurting ya repeatedly. Is that what ya want for yourself? Is that what you want for Abby? She's gonna see how I make you cry, and eventually, she's gonna question it. I'm not the same person I was at the beginning of this, Shay. I'm falling down the rabbit hole. It's not gonna get better for anyone, us included, until I hit the bottom," he confesses.
I should slap him across the face. I should be checking him into a rehabilitation center for avid drug users, but I'm too damn selfish. Instead of pushing him away, I pull him against me. I need him as badly as he needs me, and I don't give a damn if it destroys me in the process.
His mouth meets mine first and that's my cue. I take out every ounce of anger I've ever felt and punish his mouth with it. I use him to make my feelings float away into a place where I no longer give a shit. Our bodies fuse, one pushing the other back as we try to climb one another as we hold a place in a garden of passion. We're hungry. Hungry with lust and selfish desire, both longing to be loved. His hands run over my skin leaving a burn behind when they move on. It feels clean and healthy, but it’s a false pretense, and there's no hiding it anymore. We're toxic together. We both knew it from the first time our eyes met. We felt it somewhere in the bottom of our hearts, yet we still clung to one another. We used the other to rid the things we didn't want to feel anymore, and in the process, we destroyed ourselves. We shed blood, tears, and pain—all for the broken promises we made. It’s impossible to keep a promise based on a lie in the first place.