by Delia Steele
(Mando)
I can’t think clearly. The only thing I am sure of is that I have to get away from them. I feel my throat closing up, and I can’t stand it. I jump up and run from the room, from them. I hit the front porch, aware that I have nothing on but an old blue t-shirt and panties. I run hard down the wet dirt road. I need to break the chains holding me down.
I run faster. I need to set myself free. A thousand thoughts swirl through my mind, a million memories from school when Rory and I were thick as thieves.
My feet slap the wet ground hard. We don’t have that now. She has Rome and the kids, and I have . . . nothing.
My feet are covered in mud. I stop at the four-way. Right takes me out of here and left takes me back to Chico’s slut shack of shitivity. I stand, hands clenched at my sides, rain blurring my vision. I look left, right, left, right. This is my life: confusion, indecision, misdirection. Lost. I’m at that proverbial crossroads, and all I can do is stand and cry, the mud and dirt on the outside matching the sludge on the inside.
Going it alone—that’s my destiny. I need to accept it. Just as I do and turn to run towards Chico’s—the only refuge I have—arms wrap around me, and Clay’s voice is right in my ear. “Stop running from me, damn it. Amandolette, you aren’t alone. I got you. Just let me… Please, God, just let me. I can be strong enough for us both.” He hugs me tight.
“Clay, I didn’t mean to love you.” I cry hysterically as I gasp for air, attempting to tell him the truth. “You were supposed to be fun…entertainment. That’s all I was looking for. I wanted to play and be young. Then you happened to my heart. You deserve better than me. You deserve someone who isn’t just a used-up gutter slut in name brand clothing. I’m the wolf, and you are the sheep. I’m so sorry.” I turn into him and hug him harder.
“You’re not a gutter slut, Amandolette. Any such thing that you think about yourself is wrong. Anything you’ve done can be fixed. If you think you have wronged me, you can right it. Right now. Right here. These raindrops are washing your slate clean. Just come with me.” I pull him in tighter. He thinks this is me saying OK, but it’s really me letting go. I realize in this moment that Clay will follow me forever if I don’t cut the cord.
“I love you so much, baby.” I look up to tell him goodbye, and he closes his mouth over mine. I should stop it, but I don’t. As always, I give in to him. I let him devour my mouth and soul, right here in the center of all my poor decisions. The rain pouring over me, his love showering me… I should feel cleansed, content. But I don’t because I still have my father’s secret stripping me of my soul, and Clay will never approve. Once we break our kiss, I let him pull me towards Gran’s beat-up trailer. Not long ago, I lived in a white two-story mansion with six bathrooms, a pool and pool house, and a four-car garage. Now, I live in a two-bedroom, one-bath, no-garage trailer; and to top it off, I have no job. Go me! #winnerwinnerchickenfuckingdinner
The last thing I want to see in my drunken, pity-me state is the person I tend to blame everything on. She’s innocent, but even sober, I have a hard time remembering that. She runs to grab me when we walk through the door, rambling about being worried about me. All I hear is a mouse cheeping. I roll my eyes and push past her.
“Go home, Rory. Go tend to your wonderful life.” I walk into the kitchen and notice that plunger is now sitting upright in the floor at the end of the counter. I open the fridge and grab a beer. I pop the top, beyond caring who sees me. “Run along, little doggie, back to your cozy bed, to your happy little family, to where everyone adores the perfection of AURORA the Fabulous.” I see Gran watching me, but it’s Rory who speaks up. She may be sweet, but she’s never one to back down.
“You’re such a bitch, Amandolette. HOWEVER, you’re my best friend, and I won’t let you run me off. I need you, and by the look of you, you need me, too.” I look down at my soggy, filthy body and smile. #hotmessexpress
“Not really. I seem just fine to me.” Wiping the water from my eyes, I see the smudged makeup on my hand. I likely have coon eyes, but it doesn’t matter. I’m used to being ugly. It’s who I am. “I don’t need some trailer park whore turned princess telling me how to live my fucked-up li—”
The crash takes me by surprise, and the flash of white hot pain blinds me. I feel like my entire face is on fire. I open my eyes, throw my hand up over my face for protection, and look at Rory, who is still across the room. I turn to the side and see Gran looking at me with unadulterated anger marring her kind face.
“I’ve never been so ashamed of you in my whole life. Since the day you were born, I have adored every hair on your mule head. But this…this won’t happen. Not in my house. You had better get your act together, Miss Prissy. Acting this way is insane. You’re delusional and in need of a wakeup call. Everyone has struggles in life that they have to overcome, but you’re acting like your life is over just because things are tough. I expect better from you. And one more cross word to Aurora, knowing she is here away from her family for you, and I will knock more than spit from your polluted mouth. You’re ungrateful and feeling sorry for yourself, and that’s fine, but not at others’ expense. Next time, child, it will be your teeth. Hashtag findyourbiggirlpantieschica.”
I have nothing left to say to any of them. I stand, staring at my grandmother, my Abuela. She has picked Rory, the same as everyone else in my life. With my hand still on my cheek, I storm past them all and go to my room. I think Gran hitting me knocked me sober.
“I’m not a child.” I mutter to myself as I curl up, soaking wet, under my covers. If I leave, Clay will chase me. I have to wait. It’s late, so it won’t be long before everyone’s asleep. Then I’m out. Fuck this place and the entire goody-two-shoe clan of cunts that live in it. They won’t get the best of me.
I’m jarred awake. It’s still dark out, but looking behind me, I can see it’s Clay lying down that woke me. “You awake?” he whispers, but I don’t move. I close my eyes and lie still. My head is pounding, and I need him to crash so I can escape. I feel like a prisoner in my home, in my own life, and I need to break free.
It doesn’t take long until Clay is snoring. I ease up and slide on a pair of his sweats as I creep out the door. Down the hall, I hear Gran’s snore coming from her room, and I see Rory on the sofa with her back to me. A small part of me wants to bash her head; another part wants to curl up with her and cry for lost time. But more than anything, I need to flee. It’s become a constant compulsion. The urge is so strong I almost run. I need to be free of this place for good this time.
I push the metal door shut, and the click is like a key turn in an overcrowded cell. It’s liberating. I turn, wide grin in place, grateful to be free. I head straight for my sanctuary of anguish. For the only place where being judged doesn’t bother me. To the one person who is the same as me inside—worthless. Chico.
Chapter Eight
(Clay)
Rolling over and reaching for a missing body is enough to scare anyone; but when that someone is an emotionally wrecked, bipolar rollercoaster rider, it terrifies you. I jump up and run out into the hallway. Looking towards the bathroom, I see the door is open, so I walk down the slim hallway to the living room, where I find Rory and Gran chatting over coffee.
“Good morning, Clayton.” Gran smiles at me, but it slides right off her face when she meets my eyes. “What? Where is she?” She jumps up and runs past me towards Mando’s room. Rory jumps up and looks out the front door. I simply stand where I stopped, staring off into space…lost…remembering the last time someone I loved ran away. The pain overwhelms me, and I crumble to the ground, holding my chest. “She can’t be gone,” I whisper to no one. Rory and Gran are both talking and I hear, “Her car is here, so she can’t be far.” … “All her stuff is still here also.” However, I can’t distinguish one voice from the other. I feel like a fool, just sitting in this floor, but it doesn’t make me less of a man. No, if anything, it makes me more of one. I can accept the fact I am nothing without my other
half, and right now, that other half is gone, run off in the night.
“Clay, are you OK?” I look up and stare right into Rory’s pale green eyes.
“I can’t be. I feel so . . . so . . . absent. I could have made it worse. I should have left her alone last night. Let her sober up.” I hang my head in shame, knowing I pushed too hard.
“Clay you didn’t push too hard,” Rory says, reading my mind. “Maybe I didn’t push hard enough. We can’t give up on her. I need you strong. She needs you strong. Get a shower, and we will go find her. She can’t be far since her car’s here, right?” I hear her, and it makes sense, so I pull myself together and grab a shower with every intention of going after my girl.
We walk the park for hours, no one willing to point out Chico’s trailer. It’s the only place either of us figure she would run to that was close enough to actually make the trip on foot.
“I need to clear my mind,” Rory says. I look over at her and can tell she is tired.
“OK, let’s go grab lunch at the diner and see if Rosaria has spoken to Mando.” She agrees and we head back to my truck.
Lunch is a fail. She hasn’t called her mom, and now I’m worried more than ever. The longer we wait, the worse the outcome could be.
“Rory, I think I need to tell you something. I’ve never told anyone outside of Amandolette, but maybe you will understand why I am as worried as I am.” She looks across the table at me and nods her head
“OK, I know where we can go. It’s on the way, and no one will overhear.” She motions to the people sitting all around us.
“Thank you.”
Moments later, we are pulling up at this old billboard off the road. It’s grown up and looks rickety. “No one comes here, Clay. They never have. We don’t have to go up, but it’s a safe place for me. It was when I lived here, and for whatever reason, it still is. I think it’s because it was the first time I felt loved. Whether Toby meant it or not, I felt what I did, and it was love of some type, and it led me to the path I walk now. Whatever you have to say, say it. I will never judge you or ridicule you for anything.” I smile at her as I lower the tailgate and we hop on it to talk. It’s not a conversation I want to have, but to save the woman I love, I have no other option. Besides, if I had to trust someone, it would be Rory. She is honest and caring and has been through her own share of shit.
“This isn’t easy for me to say, but it’s why I am so worried about Mando. She is drinking really heavily, and I believe she can’t stop. I think it has a hold on her, and is causing these crazy outbursts. I believe it’s triggered some careless personality we thought was long gone. I think this because my sister showed some of the same signs before she died.” I look at Rory to make sure she is with me, and she seems to be. “Except Marcy didn’t just die; she was killed. She was a good girl and loved her family, but she was caught up in the wrong crowd at seventeen, and it’s speculated that, one night, she couldn’t produce the cash she needed to cover an advance she had gotten. She left our house, going after pizza, and the next time my family saw her, she was in a morgue. The cops said there was reason to believe it was a druggie who did it because the toxicology reports showed traces of crack cocaine in her system and the witnesses saw her fighting with a guy before she left the pizzeria. They said Marcy was in a hurry, like she was running away from something or someone. They saw the guy follow her, and then we got the call a few hours later. We never found out who it was, so justice was never served. It’s a cold case now, and nothing will probably change that. Even if they find the guy, Marcy can never be returned to us. I know alcohol isn’t crack, but it’s an addiction, and she is running with the wrong people from what we’ve been told. Mando’s dancing with danger, Rory, and it would ruin me forever if I let something happen to her. I don’t want her found on some back road, addicted and shot. I lost my sister—I won’t lose my heart.” I look up at her, curious what she thinks about the nasty skeleton my country club family is hiding in their Spring Lake closet.
“How much older was she than you?” I look at her, confused.
“Marcy was a little over a year older.” She shakes her head, lost in thought.
“Is that why you moved here senior year?” I nod.
“Yeah, my family had to leave. They couldn’t take the whispering at the club. They couldn’t handle it when the gossip was about them or their family.” I can tell she’s thinking by the perplexed look on her face.
“We have to wait. If she isn’t home tomorrow, we will call the cops. They won’t care until it’s been twenty-four hours. Been through it a few times with crazy Carol. But tomorrow, we call.” I smile at her. Rory has always been wise beyond her years. “Let me check in with Rome, and then we can head back. Maybe when we get back to Gran’s, she’ll be there.” I shake my head as we hop down, hoping she’s right. I watch her wander off to chat while I close the tailgate and send up a silent prayer. Amandolette has always been a handful, but this time, she is hurting the most important person…herself.
Chapter Nine
(Mando)
“Shut up, Chico, and hand me that bottle.” I say, holding out my hand.
“Want something to chill you out? I got some good shit.” He waggles his brows in my direction.
“Fuck you, dude. You know I don’t do that shit. I just want to get lost at the bottom of this bottle and sleep for a whole year. When I wake up, everyone I know will have moved on and left me to rot in my own prison. My city of shit.” I take a long pull of the clear liquid and embrace the burn of cheap vodka.
“You know, Mando, addiction is addiction. Pills or pot. Alcohol or crack. It’s all addiction. You just think because it’s cleaner, it’s better.” After I take two more abundant gulps—sure it’s enough—I roll over, facing the back of his sofa.
“Fuck you with a rubber duck, Chico,” I say just before I crash.
When I wake up, it’s dark outside. I’ve slept at least one whole day away. I think about wandering out a bit and seeing what’s going on at Gran’s but quickly decide against it. Fuck them. I don’t care anymore. I call for Chico, but he doesn’t answer, which doesn’t surprise me. His business thrives in the dark of night. It’s as if people think it’s OK to snort, inhale, or shoot their drug of choice as long as the sun isn’t shining. As I sit up, I realize how bad my head is pounding and stumble around in the dark until I find a Tylenol bottle. Still wasted, I fumble with the bottle until I get the top off. I briefly note that the pills don’t look like Tylenol, but my head hurts, so I don’t linger on the thought. I throw back two and grab the vodka to wash them down with. I stumble to the back bedroom to find a better place to sleep and fall face first on the bed.
I am reawakened by stifling heat. It’s still dark, and no one is here yet. I stand, knocking my bottle to the floor, and push my pants down. I can’t sleep when I’m hot, and it’s hot as Satan’s asshole in here. All I want is a bed. As I kick my pants—well, Clay’s pants—to the floor, I bump the almost empty bottle with my toe. I grab it and kill it off with one long pull. Then I look around. The room seems distorted and tinted green. I’m not concerned, though. I want that black oblivion. I fall back down and close my eyes once again.
I must be dreaming. I’m floating and smiling. I feel light as feather, free as a bird. I have no worries and no strife. I like it here…
Now, I’m on boat. I see mermaids, and they are smiling and happy. Their laugh, their siren call—it’s drawing me towards them…
When I open my eyes, I realize it isn’t mermaids, but rather, two girls, giggling in the bed next to me. I still like the sound of their laughter, but they must be human because I don’t see any tails.
“What the fuck?” I groan, trying to sit up. It’s impossible, however, in the full bed with Chico underneath the mound of females.
“Hey, girl,” he says, smiling at me. “‘Bout time you woke up. Been two days.” I blink slowly, not fully understanding him.
“My throat,” I croak. Like magic,
a bottle appears. It’s dark, cheap whiskey, but I don’t care. I take a swig and cough a little from the thick flavor. I turn it up repeatedly until I can swallow it without hacking out a vocal cord. One of the girls rubs her hands across me, and it feels good.
“Headache?” Chico asks. I nod lazily in his direction. “You should. You know how many pills you took?” I stare out into the darkness, trying to recall, but I can’t. “I’ll tell you how many. You got up three times in the last seventy-two hours, and every time, you took one. So by my count, you took four: two the first night, one yesterday, and one earlier tonight.” I close my eyes, trying to remember, but it’s pointless.
“So why do I have a headache?” I fall back, not caring that the girls are there.
“Because, Mando, you been strung out on ecstasy for about three days now.” That would explain why I feel so soft.
“Well, shit,” I smile. “Next time don’t put them in a Tylenol bottle, ass munch.” I feel one of the girls rub all over my leg and up my stomach, but it doesn’t bother me; it feels squishy. I welcome it. Then, Chico is in my face.
“If the girls can touch, so can I. Somebody has to pay for the product you used.” I feel hands on me and slowly start to drift off, but I snap out of it when I feel his dick pressing against my body. I shove him away.
“I ain’t fucking you, Charlie, so stop.” He sits back, and I see the blonde put her head between his naked legs. Suddenly, a phone goes off, and we all look around. I know it isn’t mine because I didn’t grab it when I left. After it goes off twice more, the blonde-haired chick digs it out of her bag. She answers it, and her eyes go big.