“Yeah. A lot is putting it mild.” Meeting his eyes, he took a deep breath. “Thanks, by the way.”
“No problem. Let’s get out of here.”
They walked together to the back door of the main building. Orphans played in groups all over the playground filled with weeds and rusted equipment.
“When did you come in?”
“Just transferred from the home over East London.”
Max’s eyes went wide. “You were there when it burned down? Heard that was bad.”
“Everything lost.” Turning his head, he shrugged. “Not that we have much to lose, right?”
“I hear you. You the poster boy over there?” Micah nodded and for a minute, they were quiet as they stopped at the last fence and leaned over the top. “They keep you from bein’ adopted?”
He didn’t answer right away. Taking a deep breath, he met Max’s eyes. “There was a couple. Wanted me to be their kid. She had red hair and eyes like yours. He looked like a fancy businessman. I was little but I think their name was Hollander-Ellis.” He glanced off in the distance. “They wanted me because I kind of looked like the mister, ya know?”
Max nodded. He did know.
“They came to visit me a couple times. Last time I saw them, the missus looked wrecked. They argued with the headmaster but he shook his head.”
Kicking the dirt with the toe of his worn shoe, he cleared his throat. “After that, I didn’t go with the other kids when it was visitor day. Didn’t see the point anyway.”
“You want I should scar you or something?” Max kept his voice low. “You could do the same.”
“Nah, kid. Then the parents wouldn’t take us anyway. Besides…” he grinned, “the girls seem to like it.”
“Yeah. That’s not a bad thing.” Tilting his head, he asked the question at the top of his mind. “Will you teach me to fight?”
“Do you read?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Teach me. I’ll show you what to do to protect yourself. We’ll be even.”
“They didn’t teach you over at EL?”
“Not much but I don’t always pay attention anyway. I’d rather be kickin’ the ball. Maybe runnin’. I like to run.”
Max was almost always reading so he wasn’t very good at sports. “Deal. I’ll teach you to read, help you with your schoolwork.”
“I’ll keep the fellas off you and help you get stronger.” He grinned. “You gotta grow some.”
Laughing, the boys shook hands.
It was the beginning of a friendship that would see them through poverty, heartache, violence, and ultimately to the life they were meant to have.
They would always be pretty.
The girls would always like it.
Completely Wrecked
Published Book
Long Island, New York - September 1989
Age 10
Elizabeth Clayton was not a beautiful child but she held out hope that one day, she would become the butterfly her grandmother always said lived inside her.
In the meantime, she pulled at her sweater that was a bit too snug and sucked in the part of her tummy that poked over the top of her jeans.
She noticed Dylan Lang in fourth grade when he transferred in from a school out of state. From the first day, she found herself looking in his direction often.
He was a disheveled boy with strange bruises and a quiet demeanor. His dirty blonde hair and eyes that were the color of a new penny caused her to stare at him often during the school day. Even when she didn’t mean to look at him, she found herself doing it anyway.
Something about him called to her, like a whisper soft enough that you couldn’t quite hear it. At the time, she didn’t know what love was but over the years, she would learn.
The lesson would not be an easy one.
* * *
Age 12
In sixth grade, a school dance made her daydream that he would ask her to go but he never did.
The overheated gym decorated with gaudy crepe paper streamers and flashing lights seemed like another planet. Loud music and the usual people who liked to tease her made her wish she hadn’t come at all.
For three hours, she watched the door but Dylan never came. Too shy to talk to him, she would’ve been happy to watch him quietly.
When she got home, Elizabeth stared at the dress she’d been so excited to wear when Nana bought it for her granddaughter’s very first dance.
Now she felt frumpy and bizarre as she took in her reflection in the full-length mirror.
Her hair was a boring brown that made her skin seem even paler than usual. With legs too thick, hands too big, and the rest of her body generally shapeless…Elizabeth decided she was the ugliest butterfly ever.
* * *
Age 15
In her freshman year, Elizabeth discovered running and joined the school track team. She ran all the time because it was the only time she felt graceful and in control.
Over nine months, she lost her baby fat but she was teased by her classmates anyway because she was the tallest girl in school and taller than most of the boys.
The week she decided to cut her hair so it would be easier to maintain was one of the worst in her life.
Nana took her to a small salon near their house and the young woman who cut it gave her a pretend smile in the mirror when she was done.
As they paid at the register, she heard the stylist whispering to a co-worker. “How a girl so young already looks like a man is beyond me. Poor thing better hope she gets some boobs or something.”
When she got home, she told Nana she would never go back to such a place again. “You can trim it for me.” After a short pause, she added quietly, “I think I’ll let it grow back out. I-I’m not sure I like it short after all.”
Her grandmother didn’t try to talk her out of it and that’s when Elizabeth knew she’d heard the women at the beauty parlor talking. Blushing, she went upstairs to shower.
The two of them never spoke about it again but many years later, she would read in Nana’s journals that she’d gone back to the salon while her granddaughter was at school and made the hairdresser cry for being so cruel to a young girl.
It turned out the stylist’s words were nothing compared to those of her classmates. Until her hair grew long enough to touch her shoulders, they taunted her unmercifully.
Dylan never said mean things to her but he didn’t have to.
She knew they were right. Her shoulders were too broad and her body too lean and boxy to be considered very feminine. Even though she felt feminine.
Elizabeth wished she knew how to broadcast that feeling to the other students who thought nothing of hurting her feelings.
Most of the time, she pretended she didn’t hear them and when they knew she heard, she pretended not to care. Even that didn’t stop them. It earned her a reputation as a “real man” because she didn’t cry as other girls did when teased.
She worked hard to keep her grades up because she wanted to be a teacher more than anything else in the world.
On career day, when she gave her presentation, two boys in the back of the class told her she’d scare little kids because she looked like Lurch. Several of their friends snickered quietly.
One girl asked, “Will you make them call you Mr. Clayton?”
The rest of the class thought that was very funny.
Swallowing hard, she choked down the hurt and smiled. “Miss Clayton will be fine,” she murmured softly.
When she wasn’t going to school, studying, or running, Elizabeth took care of Nana.
She didn’t remember her father and her mother was in and out of rehab and jail in New Jersey. It had been years since she’d seen her.
As far as she was concerned, Nana was all the family she needed. She’d taken her in as a baby and raised her in the little house on Long Island where she’d raised her own children.
For as long as she could remember, every Sunday, she and Nana went to a little
non-denominational church and on Mondays, they went to the humanist association meetings. Wednesday nights, she drove Nana to bingo at the Catholic Church and every Friday afternoon, they volunteered at a soup kitchen.
Sometimes they visited people in their homes, other times, people came to theirs. The variety of people her grandmother knew fascinated Elizabeth and she liked to pretend Nana’s friends were her friends, too.
Each time they visited a new church, organization, or charity, her grandmother called it covering her bases.
Elizabeth called it having something of a life – even if it was living through experiences with her elderly guardian.
They cooked together and she didn’t mind making healthy meals for Nana’s special diet because it made her feel faster and stronger when she ran.
In the meantime, dance after dance came and went but no one asked her to go.
At first, she went hoping to see Dylan Lang but he never went to school events after regular hours.
Eventually, she stopped going alone.
Inherently shy, she didn’t make friends her age easily and never felt like she fit anywhere.
It started to feel better to be alone.
Read “Completely Wrecked” by clicking here.
Permission to Land
Published Book
South Florida - June 1994
Chance Harding hadn’t experienced many days of peace in his life. Somehow, he maintained hope it was possible.
When he was fourteen, his twin sister had a sleepover with one of her friends. The girl climbed out on the roof of the house to sneak through his window.
Presumably because his bedroom door was locked.
After politely escorting her back to a livid Dakota, he made a note to secure all exits going forward.
A week later, he asked a shy classmate to be his girlfriend. They dated for two years. He spent time with her and struggled to be normal like other boys his age, but it wasn’t enough.
When he was sixteen, his father told him to get in the car to shop for boat parts. Unaccustomed to running errands with the violent man, Chaz tried to remain calm.
His story wasn’t entirely implausible.
The man’s recent purchase of a luxury fishing yacht christened The Sweetest Thing was a source of animosity to his twins.
There was no doubt it was intended as a getaway location to entertain whatever current mistress hung on his every word. He’d put it in the names of his twins to hide it from the IRS.
Their mother, as usual, questioned nothing.
Alfred Harding was a wealthy and powerful man. Young and clueless women flocked to his side. They gave him whatever he wanted in exchange for housing, cars, and jewelry.
He tended to tire of them quickly. Paying them off, he swept them from his life as if they never existed.
On the unusual outing, the silence was tense between father and son as they drove across Miami. Chaz frowned when he realized they’d entered an upscale residential area.
“What are we doing here?” he asked quietly.
“I have a little present for you.” The words filled him with true dread. “You’re going to love it. God knows you need it.”
“What did you do?”
Parking his expensive sports car along the curb in front of a condominium, the older man turned to him.
“I booked you the afternoon with the best call girl in Miami, son.” He winked. “She’s going to show you everything you need to know.”
“If you think I’m getting out of this car, you’re mistaken.”
Too many beatings over too many years taught him not to flinch, not to cry, not to defend himself.
Any of those responses made things worse.
Alfred backhanded him across the face. “You’ll get out of this fucking car and you’ll let this whore make a real man out of you. Not the prancing little fuck you’re turning into, Chance.”
Inhaling carefully, refusing to address the blood on his lip, he shook his head. “I will not.”
Getting out of the car, his father walked around to drag him out and Chaz locked the doors. He wouldn’t damage his classic car and he didn’t typically have scenes in public.
He saved it for when he had his son alone at home.
With a slow, evil smile, he pointed at Chaz through the passenger window. “Suit yourself, faggot. I’ll get you later.” His father straightened his jacket and winked. “More for me.”
The moment his father disappeared into the building, Chaz got out and jogged eight miles back to their house.
Dakota met him at the door. He assumed she must have been watching from her window.
“What the fuck happened? What did he to you? You know the rule. You don’t go anywhere with that fucking sadist without me. Not ever.” She wrapped her arm around his shoulders. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Several hours later, his sister waited in the center of his room when their father slammed the door wide, busting a hole in the drywall with the knob. Chaz stood behind her.
“Hiding behind your sister, pussy?”
Dakota laughed. “Like you can talk, bitch. I don’t want him caught in the crossfire.”
The person who donated sperm to their creation stared her down for almost a minute but Dakota didn’t blink.
“Get out of the way.”
“How about you make me?” Her words were deadly and though she was unarmed, Chaz knew her skills. “Let’s dance, you piece of shit.”
Their father never touched Dakota in violence. He lifted his hands to take her shoulders, intending to move her aside.
Blindingly fast, she struck him beneath the jaw with her elbow while bringing her knee up to rack his balls.
He collapsed on the floor, moaning. Blood bubbled from his mouth where he’d bitten through his tongue.
Barbara appeared in the doorway. “What did you do?”
“Scoop up the garbage you married and get him out of this room. He touches my brother again and he gets more of the same.” She set her feet. “Look me in the face, Barbara. Look into my fucking eyes and tell me if I’m lying.”
Sputtering, suddenly afraid, she helped Alfred to his feet.
Dakota chuckled. “Hope you enjoyed your afternoon with the hooker, Alfie. Your balls are going to hurt for a while.”
The moment they cleared the door, Dakota slammed it behind them. Her entire body vibrated with fury.
“You stay with me when he’s around. Understand?” Chaz nodded. “Let’s go get some better locks for your door.”
Over the following year, she physically beat their father twice more with little effort and no retaliation.
She didn’t deliver the last one.
Having graduated high school two years early, they completed college courses as fast as they could, gaining their associates degrees in very little time.
It was all part of Dakota’s plan for them to escape the house of horrors they lived in.
Shortly after they turned seventeen, Chaz walked to his bedroom around three in the morning with a bottle of water when he heard a muffled sound coming from Dakota’s room.
He tried the knob and found it locked. There was sudden movement on the other side.
He darted into his room and picked up his practice bat. Years of use meant the handle formed comfortably to the shape of his palm.
As he returned to the hall, his father stepped out of Dakota’s room. He was sweaty, had a bite on his shoulder, and wore nothing but boxers.
“Go back to bed, Chance.” His expression was smug, confident the fear he’d worked to instill in his son since he was four would save him.
Not when his sister was involved.
Instead, Chaz charged him, driving the heaviest part of the bat into his lower belly. He hit the wall and bounced off a table, knocking framed photographs of their fucked-up family to the wood floor and toppling a tall vase.
The resulting noise was explosive. A moment later, their hungover mother appeared i
n the hall.
He ignored them both to check on his sister. Flicking on the overhead light, a sight greeted him that filled him with a murderous rage he’d never felt before or since.
Tied to the bed, duct tape over her mouth, she was naked from the waist down. The evidence of what Alfred did to his twin shone on the skin of her inner thighs. There were older bruises there that told a story she’d kept to herself.
Always the protector. Never protected.
He untied her quickly, removed the duct tape, and helped her sit up. Gently, he murmured, “Get dressed. Pack what we need. I’ll deal with him.”
Turning to the door, their mother stood there. She didn’t look at her daughter or acknowledge the brutal rape of her child.
No. Barbara looked at him. “Don’t, Chance. Let’s all calm down for a minute. Don’t let your emotions make your choices right now.”
“You’re a little too calm. In fact, you’re more of a monster than he is. If you’re so worried, please call the cops. I fucking dare you to do it. I’m sure they’d love turn your idyllic world upside down. Surely, it won’t make news.”
He shoved past her into the hallway and stalked his father crawling toward his bedroom.
“You stick your dick in everything, don’t you, Alfred? Such a real man you tie up your little girl and rape her. That’s the example you want me to follow? A fucking rapist?”
Chaz cracked the bat against the man’s knee and heard bone break. Alfred screamed.
“I’ll never be like you. You twisted fuck.” He struck him in the low back and relished another wail of pain. “Let’s give you back some of your own medicine. See how you like being broken down by someone stronger.”
He chose his shots with care. Enough to hurt but not enough to kill him. The bastard did enough to ruin their lives.
Kneeling beside his crying father, he grabbed his face. “I’m taking her to the hospital and having a full rape kit done to prove what you’ve done to her. We’re going to watch you twist in the wind, you piece of shit.”
“No.” He spoke through hitching sobs. “I’ll give you whatever you want. Just stop and think about this.”
“Oh. I’m thinking, dad. Your life is about to get real complicated and I honestly hope you try to fight it.” Standing, he spit on him. “You should’ve stuck to beating me. You never should’ve touched my sister.”
The Barter System Companion: Volume One Page 3