by Tiffani Lynn
I’m not just crying for his dismissal tonight. I’m crying for the last 10 years that I secretly held out hope he’d come back to me. As I ponder it now, I realize I was basing those hopes on a good friendship that developed when I was at a weak point in my life. But if I’m honest, most of what I felt is based on one night, the last night I saw him after he broke up with Jenny right before he shipped off to the Navy, when he was 21 years old. That makes me a flaming idiot.
When he was delirious in the ICU following the amputation, he told me he loved me, but I never heard from him after that visit. I assumed his declaration was made in a drug-induced state and he didn’t realize it was me. He just confirmed what I feared. I don’t mean anything to him and I probably never have. How did I let this get so big in my head? I rub my sternum hoping to sooth the pressure building there.
When I get to my room at Ms. Polly’s house I strip off my clothes and curl up under the covers in nothing but my panties. The smell of Judson and sex is all over my skin and I know I should scrub it off, but I want a few more hours with him surrounding me so I can linger in the heartbreak. Tomorrow I’ll work at moving on. Ten years is long enough for delusions and idiocy.
Chapter Five
Judson
I dig my palms into my eyes, rubbing hard as I take several deep breaths and allow the emptiness to wash over me and seep into my pores. Why did I do that? She was finally under me. Sated, happy, ready for more and I sent her on her way. When I first saw her at the funeral, I told myself I couldn’t pursue her because I couldn’t perform like a man anymore. I thought she deserved more than a gimpy broke-dick bastard who couldn’t please a woman. Even with the little stirring I felt when I was in her room that night I still didn’t think I could perform. Then she showed up all pissed off and jealous and it turned me on, making my reason for staying away a non-issue.
I was hard as soon as I touched her in that bar so I practically dragged her out of there. When there was no awkwardness as I removed the prosthesis and no performance issues with one and a half legs, I should have pulled her down to the justice of the peace and married her right then. Instead, my insecurities with my new, scarred body reappeared and took over. I was a complete dick to her. I could tell by the sound of her voice and the rigid movement of her usually fluid body she was hurting as she searched for her clothes. The look of humiliation on her face was like a dagger to the heart. When did I become so vain that how I look matters more than who’s around me?
What the hell is wrong with me? My throat burns as I fight the tears. I refuse to cry like a big pussy. I battle the feeling with everything I have left in me and tell myself she’s just another chick, just another piece of ass. But my mind is a traitorous son of a bitch and won’t recognize her for what I need her to be and it keeps drifting back to the things I did with her in this bed. To how I really feel about her. Little snippets, like movie clips, flash before my eyes of her splayed out on my bed: the silky feeling of her skin, the rosy tips of her amazing breasts, that tiny little strip of black hair that practically points to my heaven. I’m such a dumbass for pushing her away.
Breathing deep in an attempt to get myself under control, the scent of her shampoo and skin surrounds me as if it coats the pillows and sheets. The realization has my dick stirring again. Of course, after a whole year of lying flaccid, my cock’s going to swell constantly now because I don’t want it to.
I sit on the edge of the bed and scrape a pill bottle out of the drawer. I’ve kept it there “just in case” since I got here a couple weeks ago. I knew it was a bad idea since I was trying to kick them, but I thought I might need them at some point. You know, for the pain. It doesn’t matter that I was supposed to flush them all down the toilet a while ago. I drop two in my palm and shuffle to the bathroom to get a swig of water from the sink to swallow them.
My mind wanders back to Quincy for a while until I finally give up, understanding there’s no way I’ll be able to sleep now. I grab the bottle again and dump a few more pills in my hand. It’s leftover prescription medicine I was given for the leg pain and I’m thankful I hid it. I drop back down on the bed and lie there hoping the meds will kick in soon and help to dull the pain I feel at letting her go again.
The next two days roll by in a haze of booze and pills and I’ve finally run through everything I have in my hotel room. I’m out of pills and there’s no way my doctor will write me a new script. I’ve been flagged in the system as an abuser so I’m shit out of luck. The problem right now is that I need to be numb and I have no way to accomplish that. I call the local liquor store and pay extra to have them deliver a couple of bottles of Wild Turkey. If I down another bottle of that, I should be able to get some sleep even without the pills. At some point I’m going to go find the guy who sells pills. John, the man who has been perched on the barstool next to mine almost every night, gave me his name, location and description the other night when I was in there complaining about being out of pain killers.
The next morning, I wake up, vomit a couple of times, shower and dress before driving down to the questionable part of town. I need to find something to take the edge off all I’m feeling. I grab a piece of toast on my way through the lobby, hoping it will settle my stomach, and then I get in my truck.
The whole way there my stomach rolls and my skin crawls. I can’t tell if the profuse sweating I have going on is courtesy of the hangover or the withdrawals, but either way I’m soaked and miserable. In the logical part of my brain I know I shouldn’t be making this worse by filling up on more pills, but the part of me that wants to run away from the nightmares, the pain, the failure, and the hurt I can still see lingering in Quinn’s eyes says, load me up. It’s the stronger part, so it wins.
I park in the lot of a run-down convenience store that fits the description given to me and pray my truck still has wheels when I get back. I find a scrawny little white guy sitting with his back against the side wall, knees bent and feet pulled up against his ass. The once white hoody is now grey from dirt and wear, and his raggedy jeans have seen better days. He’s wearing a brand-new flat-billed Denver Nuggets cap and new, expensive-looking sneakers though. This is exactly how he was described to me.
“You Ray?” I ask the guy as I squint down at him.
“What’s it to you?” His eyes focus on me suspiciously.
“John from The Golden Leprechaun sent me.”
“Yeah, well you look like Five-O to me. How you know John?” He tilts his head and squints his eyes.
“I’ve been hanging out at that bar for the last couple of weeks. Need a little help. Doctor won’t write me a new script. I need more to help me get by.”
“Yeah, well I can’t help ya.” He rolls his eyes and switches his gaze to the horizon to the left of me.
“John said you were the guy,” I insist.
“I don’t know what you talkin’ ’bout. Why he’d send someone looks like you down here, I have no idea. Tell him to fuck off when you see him again.”
Ray looks away like he’s going to dismiss me, which simply won’t work. I need something and I need it now. I know this little worm has it, so I snatch him up and slam him against the wall, holding him there while he struggles to get free. I may be a mess, but I’m still strong enough to hold him still, and with my training this guy isn’t going anywhere.
“Listen, you little piece of shit, I’m not the damn police. I got my fucking leg blown off in the sandbox and I need something to help me get by. John said you were the guy, so you need to pony up. I’ve got the cash, but if you give me a hard time I’ll take what you have on you and not leave you a damn dime. Now what’s it gonna be?” My spittle coats his face and the fear in his eyes shines like a beacon. I’m about to get what I came for. Inside I’m grinning. On the outside I’ve got my ass-kicking face on.
“Alright man, damn. I’ll help you. You not the po-po? You gotta tell me if you are.”
“No, I’m not the fucking po-po, but I am losing my goddamn pa
tience!” I roar in his face.
“Alright man, come with me, but you gotta let me down.”
I let him down and he tries to run so I snatch him by his hoody, yanking his body against mine, pinning him there with my forearm. “Let’s try this again.”
Ray sputters a bunch of swear words and digs in his jeans pocket to pull out a couple of plastic bags full of pills. “What kind you want?”
“Pain killers. Strongest you’ve got.”
He sifts through the bags and settles on one while shoving the rest back into his pocket. He dumps several out in his palm and I shake my head and say, “More.”
“You know this shit’s expensive, right?”
“I have the cash, just give me what I need.”
He dumps the few from his hand back into the bag and passes it over. I pull out a roll of bills to pay him and then climb back in my truck, happy that nothing happened to it.
I’m driving like a bat out of hell to get back and start my party-for-one when red and blue lights flash behind me. Fuck! Police. If that kid turned me in, I’ll kill him when I’m done here. I pull my truck off to the side of the road and breathe deep, trying to calm my racing heart. I don’t need this kind of trouble. The police officer strides up to the side of the truck and peers inside. Thank God I don’t have the empty whiskey bottles in here.
“Driver’s license and registration. You have any idea how fast you were going?”
I pass him both and answer, “I’m unsure, sir. Ever since I’ve been back from Afghanistan I have issues with a few of my bodily functions and I was just trying to take care of one before I ruined my truck.” It’s a fucking lie, an embarrassing lie, but I’ve heard guys at the VA talk about using shit like this to get out of this kind of thing. The cop looks at me and at my license and asks, “So the purple heart is yours?”
My eyebrows pull together and I tilt my head. How does he know that?
He must read the question from my expression because he answers, “I saw the purple heart on your license plate when I ran the numbers.”
“Oh. Yeah. My purple heart.” When the lady at the DMV saw my veteran’s card she insisted I get it put on my plates. She said one day I’d thank her. If she were around I certainly would right now.
“I’ve been back almost a year and I’m still a mess.”
He studies me for a moment and replies, “It takes time. Been there, done that. 10 years ago. Iraq.” Neither of us elaborate further but it’s clear we share something most people don’t and for the first time I’m thankful for it.
“Here’s your stuff. Slow it down. The next guy may not let it go with a warning. If you need to stop for a bathroom, go two blocks up and take a right. There’s a convenience store there with a decent bathroom. Take care, man.”
“You too.”
Damn, I’ve got to settle down. I hate how desperate I feel. I’m just making more trouble for myself. Going the speed limit the rest of the way, I return to the hotel wondering what the hell I’m doing to myself.
Once I arrive back in my room I down some of what Ray gave me with the last of my whiskey. I decide going without whiskey is a bad idea so I shove the bag of pills into my pocket and return to the bar. It’s mid-afternoon when I take my seat on the stool I’ve occupied for the last couple of weeks. I order three double shots of whiskey and drop those down my throat in quick succession. Then I order a beer and shoot pool with a couple of guys who spend so much time in here it’s highly possible they live here.
A couple of hours, a handful of pills, three more shots and at least a six-pack of beer later, I park my ass back on the stool. More because the room is spinning and tilted than because I’m ready to sit down. With all the chemicals I have in my body right now, you’d think I would’ve forgotten all about my missing leg, my dead friends, and the hurt look on Quincy’s face when she left me the other night, but that’s not how things are playing out for me. There’s a burning in my chest and a tornado of thoughts whirling in my mind, which I can do nothing to quiet.
A new bartender is behind the bar tonight and she serves me several more shots. I had a routine going with the other guy over the last couple weeks. Enter, drink my weight in beer and whisky, he’d call me a cab, I’d wake up and repeat the next day. It worked well for me. I wonder if I can expect the same from her.
“Hey, Jess, right?” I call to the new bartender.
She continues to dry the glasses in front of her but replies, “What can I get for you, hon?”
“I’m good for a minute. You new?”
She shakes her head and answers, “Nah, I fill in when the guys go on vacation. I’ve got a kid at home now so I don’t like to work nights but they don’t trust anyone else so a couple of times a year I cover for them when they need to take a break. It gives me some extra cash and a chance to get out of the house.”
“Oh, well…” I trail off, knowing I had something to tell her but it slipped away like a fart in the wind.
“Don’t worry, sugar. I’ve already been warned I’ll probably be sending you to your hotel in a cab. The other guy left me strict instructions on what to do with you at the end of the night.”
I nod and smile, glad that someone knows what’s going on and will get me to the place I call home at the end of the night.
On my second trip to the bathroom I palm some more pills and swallow them with water from the sink. When I return to my stool I slam another glass of whiskey. Pain is so not what I’m feeling now as it all mixes to mellow me out.
The blonde who’s been circling me for a week is back and climbs on my lap to sit. You’d think she’d have learned not to do that again after I dumped her on her ass when Quinn showed up. I guess she’s just determined. Now that everything is back to working order, maybe my body will react the right way to her this time and I’ll be able to fuck Quinn out of my system.
I don’t think blondie realizes I’m a damn cripple yet and I don’t plan to tell her. She wraps her arm around my shoulder and moves her cotton candy painted lips to my ear. She’s whispering something that I’m not quite comprehending and licks my earlobe. I’d like to respond, but all of a sudden it feels like I’m hearing things from down a long tunnel. I continue to smile as she keeps talking even though shit’s getting a little weird with me. I feel her tongue lick down my throat and instead of being turned on I’m a little annoyed. Which also brings to my attention that I’m not feeling right. My vision, my hearing and my equilibrium have gone from a little weird to way off in seconds.
I push her away from me, but she doesn’t budge. She shifts and drops her other hand to my dick. I’m not even slightly aroused so I’m not sure what she thinks she’ll find. Her nails scrape up the outside of my jeans as she purrs, “You’re a big boy in there. Why don’t we find some place more private for me to get to know you a little better…naked.” She gives me a smile discolored from smoking, and the smell of her heavy floral perfume makes my stomach twist. This is a bad idea. I don’t understand why this wasn’t bothering me a few minutes ago.
“No.” I push her away again, but she readjusts and leans into me. Persistent, sloppy kisses coat my neck as I attempt to get control of my body. It doesn’t feel right. Not her, not what she’s doing and not my body or mind in general. I’m way fucked up. Suddenly, I lose complete control of my limbs and I hear a scream as a falling sensation takes over. I hit the cement floor hard with my back and the room spins at a speed I can’t control. John, the guy who’s been perched on the barstool next to me the last couple of weeks, comes into view. “Hey, buddy. You need an ambulance?”
I take a few seconds to respond, hoping to stop this out of control feeling that’s consuming me. “Nah, I’m good. Just lost my balance,” is what I think I say, but it could be one giant slur sound as far as I can tell. He hacks an old smoker’s throaty chuckle and helps me back up. Luckily, that maneuver scared blondie off and she’s moved on to a guy at the pool tables. When I climb back up, the bartender shakes her head and
says, “No more for you tonight, unless you want water.”
“What? Why?” I ask.
“All I need is for you to get hurt on my shift. The insurance will skyrocket and I’ll be out of a gig I need to pay some extra bills. Chill out tonight. You’ve got plenty in your system.” I don’t argue because my head is still spinning and the fall scared me a little. I sit on the stool for a little while longer in an attempt to get myself together.
When it’s time to take a piss I stand and pivot, but trip over something and land face-first on the floor. It seems to happen in slow motion. My muddled mind fights to react, but loses as my forehead connects with the concrete floor. Pain shoots through my skull as everything goes black.
A beep, beep, beep sound rustles my senses. I can’t place it. I know I’ve heard it before. I’m certain I know what it is, but I can’t see anything, only black. I fight against the nothingness, attempting to focus on the sound for a few minutes, only to fade back out again.
I wake up later, slowly blinking my eyes open and looking around the dimly lit room. There’s a light on behind me, but the overheads are off. The beeping I heard the last time is still there, but I can’t find it. I try to sit up only to find my arms tied down somehow. I have no idea where I am or how I ended up here. The fact that I’m strapped down is not good. Thank God my training kicks in and I’m able to force myself to relax long enough to survey my surroundings and listen to the sounds of the room before having a total freak-out. The little drummer boy is pounding away in my head and I want it to stop.
Whispers to my right draw my attention so I turn my head to find the source, but can’t see anyone. It must be coming from behind me. Why can’t I see anyone? Should I speak up or let them think I’m still asleep until I figure out what’s going on? More noise behind me. More talking. The language being spoken is heavily accented English, it sounds Middle Eastern and it seems like it’s right behind me. I can’t see no matter how far I crane my neck.