by Paige Weaver
Walker followed him in silence, his eyes staring straight ahead with coldness, not acknowledging his dad.
I walked down the porch steps slowly. I didn’t care about Old Man Walker - everyone knew he was a mean drunk - I just cared about Walker.
I wanted to talk to him, find out why he left me behind at the motel. Remembering how he had abandoned me, leaving me at Pam Man’s mercy, still hurt. The resentment wouldn’t go away, no matter how many times I tried to make it. He betrayed me. Left me for the police to grab.
I’m not sure how I’d ever get past that.
Deciding now was as good a time as any to confront him, I left my trailer and jogged across our dirt-packed yard. A stray breeze lifted strands of my hair off my secondhand shirt, snagging on the tattered collar. My gaze never left Walker’s home as he and his dad disappeared behind the closed front door, the sounds of yelling still echoing from inside the house.
I was almost to the end of their driveway when I slowed down, ignoring how my tight tennis shoes cut into my heels. I could hear screaming from inside and the sound of doors slamming. There was a loud crash then more yelling.
Feeling unsure, I looked down the street, first left then right. It was a Friday afternoon and the neighborhood was quiet, most people still at work. I was alone, facing a house known for violence. In the back of my mind I wondered who would come to save me if Old Man Walker turned on me. But I wanted to see Walker. Not even a hotheaded father would stop me. I bounded up the porch steps, my mind made up.
“Sorry I’m such a pain in your side, Dad!” I could hear Walker yell at his father.
“You bet your sorry ass you are! I just wasted a day going to git you out of jail! Waste of my goddamn time, that’s what you are! You gonna grow up to be a shithead? Huh? That’s what you want? Because you sure as hell are on your way,” Old Man Walker’s voice shouted.
“Well, I got a good role model!” Walker screamed back. “You’re the master at being a shithead! No, the king of it! The Fucking King of Shitheads!”
Suddenly I heard the unmistakable sound of flesh hitting flesh. A second later something crashed to the floor. Whatever it was, it only confirmed that a scuffle was taking place.
“I’m gonna kill you!” Walker’s dad bellowed, followed by another crash.
I grabbed the metal handle of the screen door and yanked. It flew open, bouncing against the outside wall. I stepped into the house before the door could slam shut, letting my eyes adjust to the darkness inside. When they did, I rushed farther into the house. My footsteps were silent on the worn carpet but it didn’t matter. The sound of shouts and fighting drowned out everything else.
I ran through the living room, made a sharp right, then stopped. What little bravery I had disappeared, swallowed whole by the scene in front of me.
A tall, lanky Walker faced off with his father, a big man with a beer belly, in their tiny kitchen. Walker and his dad didn’t look anything alike. Old Man Walker had reddish hair that was thinning. His eyes were faded blue and his skin was leathery. Walker had black hair and even blacker eyes. He was built with a lean frame, one that I had seen fight more battles than I could count even at our young age. He looked like he had grown a few inches since I last saw him, making him tower over me even more.
He stood nose to nose with his dad, his hands clutched at his sides, the differences between them more apparent than ever.
“I’m not taking anymore of your crap!” Walker shouted, his eyes full of fury. “You should have died instead of Mom! At least she doesn’t have to put up with your shit anymore!”
I saw the anger on Old Man Walker’s face a second before he raised his fist. His thick arm swung through the air, his knuckles connecting with Walker’s cheekbone.
Walker fell back against the table, his head snapping to the side. I rushed forward, unaware of just how much danger I was in. I was no match for Mr. Walker, but I couldn’t stand by and do nothing.
“Stop!” I screamed, holding my hands up in front of Old Man Walker as I stopped in front of him. His eyes had a crazed look in them, seeing right through me to his son. The stench of alcohol on him made my nose twitch.
“Worthless piece of –” His arm swung back, his hand closed in a mighty fist again.
My eyes rounded. All I saw were four large knuckles heading straight for my face. They were red and scraped, his hand about as big as my head. I cried out and curled into a little ball, ducking my head and waiting for the hit to land somewhere on me. I braced myself for the pain but it never came.
Walker jumped in front of me. His father’s fist plowed into the side of Walker’s head instead, catching him in the temple and snapping his head to the side. Walker’s hair fell across his forehead and into his eyes. A grunt tore from him.
The impact knocked him into me. I let out a whoosh of air, falling backward. Walker grabbed my wrist, keeping me on my feet. He dropped my hand quickly and rushed his father, jerking to a stop when he was inches from his dad. In that moment, he reminded me of a rabid dog, itching to bite its owner but pulled short by a tight leash.
“You touch her and you won’t be able to drink enough alcohol to take away the pain I’ll cause you,” Walker hissed, getting in his dad’s face. “They’ll have to lock me up and throw away the key for what I’ll do to you. Just one touch. That’s all it’ll take.”
Walker’s dad went deathly pale. He glanced down at me, blinking once then twice as he swayed on his feet. Recognition slowly replaced the drunken haze in his eyes.
“Samantha … didn’t know … I thought…” Old Man Walker mumbled, his eyes darting from me to his son. I realized his fist was never meant for me; it was meant for Walker. The alcohol that soaked his veins left him confused and numb to reality. I recognized the effects better than anyone.
Walker ignored his dad and grabbed my wrist, pulling me out of the kitchen. My heart hammered in my chest as I followed him at a jog, trying to keep up with his long legs. My breath rushed in and out of my lungs as I hurried but fear had me slowing down. Something was different about Walker. My gut was telling me to run and run fast. And I always listened to my gut.
Before we turned the corner, I glanced back, expecting to see Old Man Walker barreling after us. Instead I found Walker’s dad standing in the hallway, his face hidden behind his large hands. He shook his head from side to side sadly, mumbling behind his hands, “Patsy, forgive me. Please forgive me.”
In that moment I saw Walker’s dad for what he truly was – a broken man. I felt pity for him. He was hurting and that hurt had turned into a pain dulled only by a bottle. I knew it because that’s what my mama did. Except she preferred drugs to a bottle most days.
Walker’s fingers tightened on my wrist, grabbing my attention again. His hair was falling into his eyes, blocking me from seeing all of his face, but I could see the redness on his jaw and feel the anger that radiated from every cell of his body. He stared down at me a second before tugging me to move again. I followed him, turning the corner and heading for the front door. His palm smacked the screen door open with force. It struck the metal siding of the trailer and bounced back, almost hitting us as we walked outside.
We didn’t stop until we were in the middle of the yard. Tall weeds brushed against my calves as Walker whipped me around to face him. He dropped my wrist like it was poisonous. Like it hurt him to touch me.
“What the hell were you thinking, Sam?” Walker shouted, throwing his hands up with aggravation. “I’ve told you before not to come to my house, not to come around my dad, and never to show up when you hear us fighting!”
I frowned up at him. “I know, but we need to talk.”
Walker glared down at me, pissed. Barely holding it together. I realized that he had always been a hostile boy but he had returned home a dangerous man.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” he said, clenching his teeth and spitting the words out.
“Yeah, there is. What happened at that motel---”
“What happened at that motel doesn’t matter!” Walker shouted, interrupting me. “What matters that you jumped in front of my dad! You could have been hurt! Do you know what his fist would’ve done to your face?”
“I … I’m sorry,” I stammered, backing up. “I just … I’m still mad at you for leaving me.”
Walker followed me, pushing me back with his sheer size. “Why? Why do you care? I’m worthless, didn’t you hear? A waste of space. A piece of shit that never should have been born. You need to stay away from me! Isn’t that what you wanted when you turned me in? To have me locked up? To keep me away from you?”
I shook my head no and backed up, wanting to get away from him. But Walker followed, his booted feet almost stepped on my toes.
“You have no right to come around here, Sam. None!” he yelled, turning red. “Your mouth got me thrown in jail!”
I jumped with each word, my feet getting tangled together. I almost fell but he reached out and grabbed me, keeping me on my feet.
I swallowed past the lump in my throat. I had never been afraid of Walker but suddenly I was. The boy who always had a chip on his shoulder was now someone I didn’t know.
His eyes turned darker, colder. “In fact I don’t want you around anymore. Because of you, I spent six months in jail and I’m now labeled a criminal. A thug.” He shook his head with disgust. “You know? I’ve had more headaches than I can count since the day I met you. Why don’t you just get the hell out of my life, Sam?”
I stood still, unable to breathe. My chest felt like someone was sitting on it, crushing me. I hurt. Pain wrapped around my heart and squeezed, but I wasn’t ready to give up yet.
“Walker, don’t say that. You don’t mean it,” I said.
It was at that moment that I realized the boy I remembered had disappeared, never to be heard from again.
“Don’t you get it? Leave!” Walker yelled, jerking his hand up to point off into the distance. “I hate you, Sam Ross! I hate you!”
Cole Walker had officially become my enemy.
Chapter Eight
-Walker-
“Everything okay, Cole?”
I dropped down into the driver’s seat, watching as Sam walked back into her trailer.
“Yeah, everything’s just perfect,” I told Mandy with sarcasm, throwing the car into reverse. Truth was nothing was perfect. When I had caught a glimpse of Sam walking into her house, my damned heart nearly stopped. It made me fucking mad. I didn’t want to see her and I sure as hell didn’t want to watch her try to avoid looking at me like I was tempting her down the pathway to hell. But maybe I shouldn’t care. God knows I was her hell and she mine.
“Your dad at home?” Mandy asked me, drawing my attention away from Sam’s little white trailer.
“Nope,” I lied. I wasn’t about to tell her that my dad was passed out on the couch, a bottle of Jim Beam in one hand and a picture of my mom in the other. I had seen him like that more times than I could count and it always sent rage ripping through me. The man didn’t deserve to mourn my mother. And he sure as hell didn’t deserve to touch her picture with the same hands that had hit me for most of my life. My mom had been an angel. My dad was nothing but a big piece of shit in a yard full of shit.
And I was no different.
Feeling pissed and out of sorts, I backed out of the driveway. The Duster’s engine rumbled under the hood, the power of the V8 loud. It was what I needed tonight – a fast car, a hot woman, and some loud music. Maybe then I could forget about my dad and ignore whatever this thing was between Sam and me.
I turned the volume up, needing something ear-splitting. Dirty Vegas blared from the speakers, just what I wanted to hear tonight. The bass rattled the windows and made the seats of the old Duster vibrate.
Perfect.
I wrapped my hand around the gearshift and shifted, slamming the gas down and popping the clutch in one smooth movement. The back tires protested, spinning and burning on the asphalt. As soon as they gained traction, the car shot down the street.
I glanced over at Sam’s house as we flew by. The lights were on and I could see movement behind the dingy living room curtains. I wondered what she was doing. Heading to bed? Changing her clothes? Putting on something skimpy that barely covered her ass? I flexed my fingers around the gearshift again. Was she crawling beneath the covers, her nipples brushing against the cold sheets, making them pucker and draw to a point?
Shit! What the hell was I thinking?
I shifted in my seat, trying to adjust myself. That’s when Mandy caught my attention, smiling at me with a blatant I-want-you-in-me-now stare. Holding my gaze, she reached between her legs, spreading them just enough to run her hand down her trim thigh. Her tiny little skirt rose as she made little circles on her inner thigh. A second later, she smiled and reached further, picking up the wine bottle from the floorboard, courtesy of my dad’s collection of cheap liquor. Unscrewing the top, she took a long drink straight out of the bottle, chugging the five-dollar special like it was the last bottle of red on earth. I felt unease. Images of my dad doing the same thing invaded my mind. Hell, memories of me doing the same thing made me feel like shit.
I wasn’t proud that I craved the stuff as much as my dad did. And just like him, when it hit my system, I became mean. Vicious.
But maybe that’s just who I was anyway.
As Mandy screwed the top back on, I shifted. The engine eased and took a breath, cruising along the road at a decent pace. In minutes I left my old trashy neighborhood behind, forcing thoughts of Sam away also.
Too bad I couldn’t leave the memories with her.
~~~~
The day I walked out of juvie was the day I went from bad to worse. I was on a downward path to destruction. A road that led nowhere else but to crime. I raced cars like I was invincible and stole vehicles like they were candy bars. I lived like there was no tomorrow and sometimes hoped to God there wasn’t going to be one.
My dad wished I had never been born but my friends thought I hung the moon. The more trouble I got into, the more I was looked up to. It was simple – do my worst and I was loved the best.
Until one particular night.
I was seventeen and drunk off my ass. I started with beer but by eleven o’clock that night, I had consumed shots of whiskey and a good share of vodka.
My dad was working a double shift at the factory, putting fighter jets together like the drunk pro he was. Feeling the need to blow off a little steam on Friday night, I invited a few classmates over. Somehow a few turned into a bunch. By ten o’clock we had a party. People I didn’t know filled our little trailer, getting into our shit and making our dirty home even dirtier.
“Turn that up!” someone yelled when a popular dubstep song came on the radio.
I should have been paying more attention to who was coming and going. Instead I was sitting in the kitchen, playing some stupid drinking game I wouldn’t remember the next day.
“Holy hell, Walker, how many of those you gonna drink?”
I grinned at Teddy Jones, guard on Eastland High’s senior basketball team. Tallest guy I knew and smartest too.
“As many as I can,” I told him, lifting the cheap shot glass in my hand. I threw back the drink. The liquor eased down my throat without any burn. I had lost the ability to feel anything about an hour ago. At seventeen, I was well on my way to following in my dad’s footsteps – becoming a drunk with a taste for the cheap stuff. I might as well have been drinking water that night, as easy as it was to toss back the drinks, one after another.
“You’re gonna be hurting tomorrow, dude,” Tommy said, shaking his head as he watched me smack the empty glass down on the table.
“Tomorrow’s another day, Tommy,” I said, slurring my words.
“Always is,” he muttered, sipping on his beer.
I laughed. “You’re so smart, man. It’s why I like you,” I said, pouring another splash of whiskey into my glass.
“And you’re so
drunk you can’t see straight. I’m cutting you off, Cole.”
I frowned. “My house. My decision.” I said, pointing to my chest and swaying in my seat.
“Well, your decisions suck,” Tommy said, standing up and grabbing my bottle of whiskey.
I watched him walk away, debating on whether to get up and kick his ass for taking the alcohol or let him go. He was tall but I could take him. Piece of cake.
I flexed my fist, feeling the violent rage that simmered below the surface of my soul. It yearned to be free. It pulled at its restraints, gnawing on its own arm to get out of the trap I had set for it. I usually was able to keep my destructive tendencies at bay, but when alcohol was involved, it made containing the darkness in me all that much more difficult.
I watched as Tommy started talking to some girls, the bottle of whiskey in his hand. ‘Mine!’ the craving in me shouted. Swallowing hard, I pushed the yearning away. It wasn’t worth it. There was more alcohol somewhere else around here anyway.
I stood up and reached for my shot glass. For a second, the room stopped spinning. But I needed it to spin. I needed something to take away the pain that lived inside me.
Ignoring everyone else, I left the kitchen, using the wall and the doorframe for support. In the living room the music was louder and the crowd rowdier. I pushed through, not caring who I bumped into or almost knocked over. I was halfway across the room when I saw the front door open, the smell of the outside pushing its way in. I glanced over, more out of habit than in curiosity.
When I saw who was walking in the door, I slammed to a stop. The air changed, as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of the atmosphere. Time moved at a crawl. The music … the people around me … they became a background I chose to ignore.
Sam was here.
She stopped inside the doorway and glanced around. Her blonde hair was in a messy bun and her blue jeans looked like they had seen better days. At fifteen, she was the prettiest girl I had ever seen. I remember wishing I were blind. It would have made hating her that much easier.