Roar

by Cage, Aria

  Instead, I make sure I pass every single fucking one.

  I have someone else in my life to support now, and this company is relied on by so many, but none more close to me than Charlie. She hasn’t gone back to work, and I really don’t want her to, especially if he is still there. I want her to stay home, heal, and marry me. I want her to do whatever she likes, one day have my babies, and all the things we dreamed of together. I have done everything in my power for her to have her dreams and so far I have failed. I won’t fail again!

  I’m on the way to the second site, the expansion of the hospital, when the phone rings through the speakers. The radio LCD reads “Nona.” “Yeah?”

  “Get home. Get there right now, son. I called the sheriff’s office as soon as I heard her scream.”

  I don’t know how I didn’t kill someone, or myself, as I reef the wheel to the left and turn around. A car screams to a halt as I fishtail toward home. “What’s going on?”

  “That Paul turned up, and I went over right away, but she said she was okay and invited him there. So I went home and have been keeping my eyes and ears peeled. As soon as I heard her, I called them. I can’t go over there, son. Not this time. I have Davey panicking right now; he can hear her and wants to go help.”

  “Fuck. Stay there. Stay safe. I’m on my way.” I end the call and regret it instantly since Nona is my one source of what’s happening so I dial her back. “Nona, can you still hear her?”

  She is silent for a second before answering. “No.”

  Jesus Christ. “Can you hear anything?”

  “Nothing.”

  Then, clear as day, I hear something through my speakers that makes my chest ache and I feel sick. Gunshot.

  “Oh, my God, Son. I just heard—”

  “I know. I heard too. I’m nearly there, just stay low and stay on the line.”

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t go. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect her this time,” Nona is whimpering through the speakers. I can hear Davey moaning. He does that when he’s upset and I imagine him now, at his chair at the table, rocking. He did that the last time kids thought it was funny to egg the house.

  “Stop, Nona. You have done everything for us all. You saved us.” I ran the curb on that turn; I need to be careful I don’t hurt someone. I’d never forgive myself if that happened, either.

  “You took the punishment for my doing and I hate myself for that every single day.”

  “You didn’t have a choice. Can you hear anything now?”

  “No.”

  “Nona, has he come out?”

  “No.”

  I hope that means she hurt him and not the other way around.

  “I didn’t have to shoot him, Nathan. I could have let him go, but my disgust and rage made me pull that trigger.”

  “If you didn’t kill him, I would have. I’m not even sure if his stab wounds would have taken him out in the end anyway. You need to stop feeling guilty; he would have raped and killed her if we hadn’t stopped him.”

  “Nathan… mind after your brother.”

  “What? Nona?!” The line went dead and I know she is going over there. Davey will be in a state now and won’t move. Nona is risking her life for Charlie and me again. Goddamnit!

  I take the last block, ready to be sick over the steering wheel. I can’t lose them—any of them.

  My truck screeches to a stop and I fly from the cab; the truck’s still running, but I don’t care about that. I don’t care about anything but what’s going on behind those walls. Those fucking walls seem to be the hellfire of my existence. Only one good thing ever came from that house and that was Charlie. Everything else has been nothing but a sticky black tar that wants to smother the light.

  It’s dangerous, but I burst through the open front door ignoring reason, which screams for me to approach with caution. I wish I had a gun.

  I wish right now, Nona didn’t.

  I can’t breathe. Standing in Charlie’s small living room, I’m stunned and relieved at what’s before me. Where there was a pool of paint and the remnants of our lovemaking last night, was now a pool of crimson blood, tangy in the air, mixing with the scent of paint.

  Nona is standing to my right, shotgun hanging from her arm as though she’s holding her purse. As I pass her, I reach for her shoulder and squeeze reassuringly as she grimly smiles my way, comforted by my presence. I nod to the front door, urging her to leave, to get out of here before something happens to her. She can go back to Davey and wait for the authorities and most importantly, she will be safe and I won’t have to worry about her. I will be able to focus on Charlie.

  Nona slinks from the house, taking the shotgun with her. I was almost tempted to grab it from her, but it won’t help us right now.

  I approach Charlie slowly. She remains focused on the groaning, cussing asshole with a hole in his thigh.

  “Charlie?” I hold my hands out; I don’t want to spook her. The gun in her hand makes her more dangerous than half the guys back in state pen.

  She doesn’t look at me, her attention never straying from Paul, who is bleeding out over the dust sheet. I would be proud of her under different circumstances. Right now though, I’m just plain scared. I’m scared of many factors right now—scared I have lost Charlie, that’s she’s finally cracked from the shit life she’d been given. I’m scared that she’s going to go to prison for shooting her ex; if he dies she could go in for life, if she makes it in there. I’m scared to death, because despite any outcome from today, I have lost her. Charlie will never be the same again, she will never be the same sweet girl I fell in love with years ago, and she will never be the woman I longed her to be by my side. She will never feel the freedom I desperately wanted for her, and sacrificed everything for.

  This time she has imprisoned herself.

  “Charlie, baby, I don’t think he will be going anywhere in a hurry. He can’t hurt you. Lower the gun, Charlie.”

  Paul’s head whipped up at me; he’s sweating profusely under the threat of being shot again or killed, and the pain is probably excruciating.

  “You’re fucking kidding, right?” Paul practically screeches, his eyes wide before they turn cruel. “I’m going to pay her back for this. I’m going to make sure you and your family feel it too.” He growls his threat like a rabid dog.

  “Shut the fuck up before she does kill you, and if she doesn’t, I might,” I snap. The guy is a foul idiot.

  “The sheriff is on the way,” Charlie says in a quiet, monotone way that sends a chill down my spine.

  “That’s good, sweetheart. Now how about you give me that gun?”

  “The sheriff is on the way,” she says again in the same manner. “But he needs to die. I hate him for everything he’s done to us. He’s taken everything from me.”

  “I know, Charlie. But this won’t make you feel better in the long run.”

  “I was only a little girl; his little girl. He was supposed to protect me. Daddy’s should protect their little girls, not ruin them.”

  Wait. Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck. “Charlie, this is Paul, not your dad.” The fear of her past and her present clashing together is clogging the air and my throat.

  “He has to pay. I can’t move on with him still haunting me. I just can’t.”

  Jesus Christ. “Baby, your daddy is dead, he’s gone. You’re safe from him now and forever in my arms. Just come to me. Give me the gun and I will protect you.” I glance back at the front door looking for any sign of the five-o, but there is nothing. I sigh as I turn back to Charlie. Once again, the authorities are failing us in our need. For the first time since my release, I wish they were barking at my feet.

  “She’s bat-fucking crazy. Do something!” Paul screeches again like the scared pussy I know him to really be.

  “Shut the fuck up,” I growl, not taking my eyes from Charlie and the killing machine in her hand. Her tears are flowing, mixing with her sweat like a waterfall of pain and hate; every tear seeking relief from her cage
d hell in her mind. I want so bad to mop them up for her.

  “I want it all to just stop, Nate. I want to sleep without the nightmares and fear of finding him standing over me, wanting to ruin me again… I just want it to stop.”

  Her words burn through my chest; each volatile letter leaves scars in their wake, scars that spread right through to my fucking heart. I always wondered, I always feared… I always hoped I was wrong.

  I’m only a step or so away from being able to hold her, to stop her from making such a mammoth mistake she will never come back from although I don’t know if that’s my need or hers.

  I’m lost here; I don’t want the people I love to get hurt, but I’m afraid I’m way too late for that. I should have seen this coming. I wanted her to stand up and not let another soul hurt her again. I would have protected her while she learned how to. Now, I see my mistake. Charlie took that flying leap into the darkness, and I am hopeless to do my part.

  I’ve always been hopeless at protecting her, helpless to be who she needed me to be. I couldn’t protect her from her father when I thought I could. Instead, I ruined her life. I couldn’t protect her from her foster parents, who cared more for the checks than for her. I couldn’t protect her from my new life as an inmate with a bad rep, so I ignored her until she had no choice but to move on.

  Again, my choices ruined her life. Alone in the world, she turned to a man who is just as bad as her father, and all these choices brought us here, me still helpless to protect her.

  The sirens of a squad car get louder, and deep inside, I’m panicking. What do I do? Her hand is shaking; I can see she’s close to losing it. I don’t want her to go to prison no matter how short the sentence; I don’t think she will make it in there. They never listen or believe us; they will just lock her up and not think twice.

  Her finger closes in on the trigger and I know she’s just a hair from never coming back to me from the pits of hell and guilt, shut off to all feeling; I’ve seen it before with inmates dragged into prison by circumstances beyond their control, and into a violence they can’t handle. The walls will close in on her and I will be left in this lonely existence, regretting the moments I failed her, while she lives in the silent dark cell her mind has created for her to survive.

  I don’t think anything out from this point; my body does what’s natural, what it’s always needed to do. I want to protect her the best way I can, and if facing another term means she will be free to turn her life around, then I’ll do it. Maybe this choice will be different, maybe this one is the best decision I will ever make for her—for the both of us.

  I take that final step to her and snag the gun from her grasp. A rogue shot fires out and pierces through an almost-empty paint tin, sending it flying across the room. I’m glad it’s just a paint tin and not the final bullet that ends Paul’s life, no matter how much he deserves it. Charlie struggles in my arms like a feral animal; against the struggle, my shoulder feels like someone is drilling into the healing wound. I’m holding her tight, too tight. It would be hurting her and constricting her breathing capability, but I know damn well if I loosen my grasp on her, she will wriggle free and do something reckless, stupid, and dangerous.

  Another shot rings through the air and every instinct in me makes me wrap Charlie protectively. She stops struggling and grips my arms, her fingers digging into my skin. A second shot follows and something warm hits the side of my face, neck, and arm. This time it doesn’t come from the hand gun that now resides in my hand. I turn to look toward the front door, over my shoulder, not willing to allow anything or anyone to get to Charlie. The siren is deafening as it mixes with the pumping of my own blood in my ears.

  Nona is in the entryway, shotgun braced, no longer resting like an innocent handbag. Close to her, stands Sheriff Noel, his gun poised down at the ground where Paul lay lifeless.

  Paul’s blue, button up shirt grows red with every second, but it’s the kill shot that makes me shudder; the red, liquid, life force of Paul Parker, oozed from the hole in his head.

  Charlie is back to struggling against me, screaming for me to let her go, but I won’t. I can’t. I don’t want her to see this; it will be one more misplaced chunk of guilt to weigh her down, one more nightmare that steals her sleep at night.

  “Shh,” I hush to her sobs. Her body quakes under mine, each raking sob tears my heart out.

  “Daddy?”

  “Shh. He and Paul are gone now. You’re safe. I’m so sorry, baby, so, so sorry I failed you again.”

  I wanted her to say, “It’s okay. It’s not your fault, you couldn’t have done anything.” Instead, she sobbed into me, gripping my sweat-drenched shirt.

  “Is she okay?” Noel asks, reaching down and knocking the scalpel I never saw from Paul’s hand before he checks for a pulse. From here I can tell the guy is dead, but Noel needs to be satisfied before he agreed with my thoughts. He harnesses his gun and radios in as he takes Nona’s shotgun from her. Thank God. For a moment I thought it was her who made the shots. She had forgiven herself after years of church and rosaries for taking one monster’s life; I’m not sure she would live long enough for her to forgive herself if she had to do it again.

  Both the women in my life I failed over and over. There would never be enough years in my life, or the next, that will allow a smidge of the forgiveness I need for that.

  I scoop Charlie up and hold her close. She grips harder against my shirt, whimpering into my neck as I head for the front door. Noel places his hand on my shoulder, brows high. He thinks we’re going to run; I wish we could. “I need to get her out of here. You can question us out the front, but we are going to leave this house. These walls hold too much pain and blood.”

  He looks at her, and I see something pass over his eyes that I recognize. It’s guilt and shame. I know those feeling intimately, they’re like my talisman for not giving up, for me to keep trying to be better for her and myself. The question is why is he looking at her like that?

  “Don’t leave the yard,” he says, wearily.

  I nod and walk out into bright sunlight, the heat wrapping us in a damp wave, and suddenly, I feel utterly exhausted. My arms ache and tremble against the small weight of Charlie in my arms and my legs feel like heavy sacks. Scared I will drop her, I bring us to the ground and hold her, breathe in her shampoo, and close my eyes to the second squad car screeching to a stop at the drive. I just focus on her, her breathing, her heartbeat, her trembling body in my arms. Things could have been so different; it all could have ended so badly. There are so many variables to which our lives could have taken in that room and so many of them bad. Nona sinks beside us, wrapping her thin arm around me. She tucks her head into my shoulder, making me flinch against the sharp stab.

  Right away I know I made a mistake not to hide my pain. Nona sits up rigid and gasps before pulling at my shirt. I don’t want to let Charlie go, but she’s struggling from my hold again, so I let her slip from my arms. Nona grimaces and I glance at my shoulder to see what I already assumed. My wound was partially open again. It didn’t hurt as much as the early days, not by far, but it smarts like a bitch and the rust smell of my own blood starts to make my stomach turn.

  “You’ve ripped it open,” Charlie chides as though I could have helped it. It’s the nurse in her, the Charlie in her, the one I was afraid I may have lost. She could reprimand me all her life if it meant she was back in the present with me and not lost to the demons that shadow us both.

  I shrugged like it didn’t matter because, really, it didn’t. It didn’t matter a damn in the scheme of things. As long as I had her, nothing else mattered.

  “Nate, do you hurt anywhere else?” she asks trying to remain calm, but I hear the fear in her voice as she strokes my face and arm, searching for some kind of injury where there is none.

  “Charlie …” Nona says calmly, taking her hand from my other arm.

  It’s then I see the blood on her palm. I look at my arm, smudged with red, recalling the secon
d gunshot. I wipe my face and look at my hand.

  “It’s not his blood,” Nona whispers.

  No, it’s not.

  “Nathan, son, I think before you scare her anymore, you should go have a shower and wash it off.”

  It must look bad. I reach around my neck and wipe. My stomach turns as I feel something thicker than blood under my fingers. I’m no wimp to blood; I’ve seen enough of it caused by my own hands over the years. It never felt good to feel the sticky, warm fluid of someone’s life, but this is different. What clumped under my hand was gruesome and I didn’t want her to see that; I didn’t want to see it.

  I stand up, and even though it was everything wrong in me, I ignore Charlie’s whimper. Nona grabs her before she follows me, before she sees it and something breaks in her. Nona saw it all, she saw Noel shoot Paul, twice. The second shot was the kill shot and when the bullet hit, it went straight through and spewed Paul across me. Nona will never rid herself of that memory, and that too, is my fault. Fucking hell, will I ever be rid of the building guilt? I hurt everyone I love no matter what I do. That bullet could have went right through Paul and hit me. I should feel lucky I only got hit with his brains, but no, I feel like it would have been easier on all of us had it hit that sweet spot and rid them all of my shit.

  I don’t know where Davey is hiding, and I am not going to look. I hope to God I won’t run into him covered in blood; it’s something he doesn’t need to see. I run up the stairs two and three at a time. I don’t feel my legs, my shoulder, nothing; I’m focused on getting what was Paul off me. I slam the door behind me, jump into the tub, pull the shower curtain across, and spin the old tap on full cold. The cold temperature takes my breath away, but I don’t care, I just turn the hot on too. I don’t adjust for perfection. It’s just past tepid so I can breathe as I kick my shoes off and rip my clothes off; they saturated quickly and stick to my skin.

  My shoulder feels like a bad ice burn, but it’s a good pain; I welcome it. The water I see running down the white porcelain is tinted red, pooling around my feet and clothes, some blood mine and some his; the tiny bits though, they’re all his. I was waiting for them; they resemble small clots. I have to hold back the urge to be sick at my feet when they fall. I’m scared I have some in my ear and let the pounding shower drum at it painfully, and smother myself in suds, hissing as the soap hits my open wound on my shoulder.