Twenty-Nine
The sun greeted the horizon with fury. Various shades of red and bright pink streaked across the night sky. I sat behind the wheel of my late birthday present, a fire-red Mustang convertible, and waited for Devon to return. He’d gone into a blue single-wide on the backside of the Sunny Valley Trailer Court. While I waited half a dozen other cars came and went, their occupants going into the same trailer.
“Sorry, baby doll,” Devon said as he climbed into the passenger seat of the car. Even with the seat all the way back, he looked cramped. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I nodded. “Did you take care of whatever?”
“Uh-huh. Do you think you could swing by the gas station when we get back into town?”
“Sure.”
I put the car into gear and drove around the circle out of the trailer park. A handful of older boys had gathered near the exit. They shouted at a black car driving past. An arm extended from the car window with the middle finger raised.
“Go out the other way,” Devon said.
“Okay.” I turned the car onto the dirt path that went from one side of the trailer park to the other.
The black car stopped, and two boys got out. They approached the group. As I pulled my car onto the gravel road, I saw a fight break out in my rearview mirror. My foot pressed down the accelerator. I didn’t want to be anywhere near the fray.
I followed Devon into the gas station. He walked through the aisles, collecting junk food like a squirrel readying for winter: bags of chips, beef jerky, licorice, two-liters of soda, gum, and Cinna Dots. When neither of us could carry anymore, we went to the register and unloaded our arms on the counter.
“Anything else I can get for you?” the cashier asked.
“Yeah,” Devon replied. “A carton of reds.”
“Can I see some ID?” The cashier held out a thick, furry hand.
“Sure.” Devon retrieved his wallet, pulled a license out of the pocket, and set it on the counter.
The cashier picked up the card and squinted at it. I held my breath, sure he knew it was a fake, but he seemed satisfied. He gave the license back to Devon and retrieved the cigarettes.
“Can I see that?” I asked when Devon and I were back in the car.
“See what?” Devon looked at me.
“Your fake ID.”
“Sure.” He leaned to the side to get his wallet out of his back pocket, took out the fabricated license, and handed it to me.
It looked and felt exactly like mine without the “Under 18” written in red across the bottom. “How do you get one of these?”
“My brother knows a guy in Ashton that used to work for the DMV.”
“It looks real.”
“That’s kind of the point.”
“Devon Michael Sharpe. Your middle name is Michael?” I looked at him.
“Yep.” He opened the carton of cigarettes, pulled out a pack, opened it, and put a cigarette to his lips.
“Sorry, sweetie. My mom will freak if she smells smoke in here.”
“It’s okay.” He opened the car door. “I’ll be back.”
I inspected the license while I waited for him to finish smoking. When he got back in the car, I gave it back to him, put the car into gear, and left the gas station.
The gravel yard in front of Chase’s trailer had filled with vehicles since I’d picked Devon up. His truck sat to the side. He looked at it as we walked up the steps into the trailer. Like any Saturday night the guys didn’t have other plans, people crowded the front room. The stench of marijuana, beer, and cigarettes hung like a thick curtain.
I held my breath, following Devon into the kitchen. Monty, Carter, Mikey, and a few other boys gathered around the table. Instead of their usual poker game, they had half a dozen plastic cups arranged on the wooden tabletop.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Beer Pong,” Carter answered.
“Is it a game?”
“Yeah.” Carter tossed a ping pong ball. It bounced off the table, missing the cups.
Mikey picked up the ball. He bounced it off the table into a cup on Carter’s side of the table. Brown liquid splashed out.
Carter picked up the cup, removed the ball, and chugged the liquid. Setting the cup upside down on the table, he tossed the ball again. The ball bounced off the rim of a cup and hit the table. Mikey smiled before he threw the ball into another of Carter’s cups.
“Fuck.” Carter drank the contents and blinked. His third attempt at landing the ball in one of Mikey’s cups resulted in the ball missing the table entirely.
The other boys laughed. I glanced at Devon, armed with a witty quip about our friend’s lack of skill, but he wasn’t where he’d been. Scanning the room, I didn’t see him. More boys had gathered to watch the game. Devon wasn’t among them. He’d disappeared.
“Did you see where Devon went?” I asked Chase.
“Nah.” Chase shook his head. “Yo, Car. You’re supposed to put the ball in the cup.”
“No shit,” Carter retorted.
“Ah. Don’t be a sore loser, Car.” Mikey laughed.
After turning the last cup over, Carter stepped away from the table. He looked at me and his lips spread into a goofy smile. “Hey, Tori.”
“Hi,” I replied.
“Ya wan’ play?” He gestured to the table.
“No.” I shook my head.
“Is fun.”
“I can see that. Do you know where Devon went?”
“Nope.” Carter stumbled back. “Ain’t seen him.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yup. Fantast—” Carter tripped over nothing and toppled.
I grabbed Carter’s hand, pulling him upright while the rest of the room laughed. Yeah. It’s so funny. You guys are idiots. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “The floor just kind of . . .” He wobbled.
“I’m pretty sure you’re drunk.”
“Nah.” He shook his head. The motion knocked him off balance. He gripped my shoulder to stop from falling over again. “Maybe just a little.”
“Just a little.” I chuckled.
I helped Carter into a chair in the front room. He seemed steadier off his feet, and I didn’t think he needed a babysitter, so I resumed my search for Devon. Standing in the doorway between the kitchen and front room, I surveyed both rooms.
Jake, Jeremiah, and Marshal stood beside the stereo with red plastic cups in their hands. The girls—Claire, Maimy, Lexie, and a few others—congregated on the sofa. They giggled about something.
“There you are.” Devon walked up behind me, sliding his arms around my waist and kissing the side of my neck.
“I was looking for you,” I said.
“I didn’t go anywhere,” he replied.
“You weren’t in the kitchen.”
“Yeah. I had to take a piss.” His arms unfurled from my waist as he moved in front of me. “You want something to drink?”
I stared at him. His eyes darted from side to side rather than focusing on any one thing, his pupils had grown as if he’d just come out of a dark room, and sweat beaded on his forehead.
“Are you okay?” I set my hand on his chest.
“Yeah. I’m fine.” He smiled.
“Your heart is beating really fast.”
“Happens.” He half-shrugged and stepped back away from my touch. “So, drink?”
“Sure.” I nodded.
We walked into the kitchen. The boys around the table had continued their game with new players. Monty and Chase matched each other, bouncing ping pong balls across the table like skilled champions.
“What would you like?” Devon looked at me.
“Beer is fine,” I said.
Devon took a long neck bottle out of the refrigerator, opening it before he gave it to me. He got a small glass for himself and filled it with whiskey. The amber liquid swished as he raised it to his lips. He drank it in one swallow and poured another.
“Wha
t does that taste like?” I asked.
“Like whiskey,” he answered.
“Is it good?”
He shrugged. “I like it.”
“Can I taste it?”
“Sure.” He offered me his glass.
I took a sip. It burned going down my throat. “Oh, my. That’s . . .” I coughed. “How can you drink that?”
“You get used to it.” He took another drink.
I set down my beer and tried unsuccessfully to hop onto the counter. Devon put his glass next to my bottle, grabbed my waist, and lifted me.
“Thank you,” I said.
“Not a problem.” He set his hand on my thigh, giving me a quick peck on the lips, then grabbed his glass.
As the night wore on, Devon became increasing erratic. I tried to stay in high spirits as I watched him, but I couldn’t help worrying. Something wasn’t right. He played beer pong, arm wrestled Jeremiah, drank half the bottle of whiskey and several beers, smoked at least a pack of cigarettes, joined Chase in an impromptu jam session, and disappeared for twenty minutes with Marshal.
“Where have you been this time?” I asked when he returned to the kitchen.
“I’ve been around,” he answered.
“No, you haven’t.”
“Ah, baby doll. What’s wrong?” Devon looped his arm around my waist and nuzzled my neck. “Did you miss me?”
“No. It’s just . . . you’re acting weird.”
He kissed my neck, distracting me. His tongue swept my earlobe, and he chuckled when I shivered. “You want to go to my room?” he asked, one hand on the small of my back while the other swept across my collar bone.
My brain wanted to say no and find out what was going on, but the rest of my body wanted to melt in his arms. He slipped my shirt off my shoulder. Soft lips brushed my skin. I closed my eyes and inhaled.
His hand gripped one side of my neck and he kissed the other side. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” I exhaled.
With his hands on my sides, he led me to his room and kicked the door shut. My breath caught in my throat when he spun me around. Picking me up, he carried me across the room and tossed me onto his bed. Fire burned in his eyes as he crawled on top of me.
Thirty
The house smelled like maple syrup and bacon. Opening my eyes, I threw my blankets back and rushed down the stairs. Mom and Grandma stood beside the bar sipping coffee while my siblings devoured a feast of crisp, unburnt bacon, fluffy pancakes, scrambled eggs, and toast.
“Grandma!” I threw my arms around the white-haired old woman.
“Good morning, Victoria.” Grandma smiled.
“When did you get here?”
“Last night. I think you were out with your friends.”
“I missed you.”
“I missed you, too. Now, get something to eat before it gets cold.”
“Or your brother eats it all,” Mom said before scowling at Chris. “You’re acting like I never feed you. Slow down.”
“I’m hungry,” Chris mumbled through a mouthful of eggs.
I slid into the chair beside my older brother and spooned most of the remaining eggs onto my plate.
“Victoria.” Mom frowned.
“I’m hungry, too.” I smiled.
“Leave them be, Lizzy.” Grandma chuckled. “They’re growing children. Now, why don’t you put down that coffee and have orange juice? It’s much better for the baby.”
“It’s decaf, Mom.” My mother sighed.
I stuffed my mouth with a forkful of eggs to suppress a giggle.
After breakfast, I helped Grandma with the dishes before she and Mom went shopping with the baby. They offered to take me with them, but I declined. I didn’t feel like spending an entire day trapped in stores with my mother listening to people fuss over my new brother. Instead, I went into the garage, opened the door, and set up the easel Mom had given me for my birthday.
The brush swept across the canvas. First gently, then with more force as hurt and anger surged to the forefront of my mind. Devon had treated me like his personal plaything. After we had sex, he left me naked and alone in his room to go back to drinking and God knows what else with his friends. When I got dressed and walked into the front room, he acted like he didn’t care. He’d gotten what he wanted. He didn’t need me anymore.
“Asshole,” I grumbled at the painting.
Red mixed with black and indigo. A swirling, tumultuous storm rose from the canvas. The image blurred. Tears poured down my face as if they’d sprung from the same storm. I wiped them away, furiously applying paint to the canvas. Waves crashed against a cliff and boats slammed into jagged rocks.
“Hey, Tori.” Joy walked into the garage through the open door.
“Hey.” I stepped back from the easel and wiped my face again.
She stared at me before turning her attention to the canvas. “Wow.”
“I know. It sucks.”
“No, it’s amazing. Kind of violent though. Are you okay?”
I looked at her, struggled to find the words to lie and couldn’t. “No.”
“What’s going on? Did Devon do something?”
“You could say that.” I dropped my brush in the jar of thinner and sat in one of the folding chairs Mom stored in the garage.
Joy unfolded a second one and put it next to mine. “What is it?”
“He was a total dick to me last night.”
“I wish you wouldn’t use that language.”
“Well, it’s the truth. He’s an asshole.”
“Tori.” She folded her arms across her chest and pursed his lips.
“Fine. He’s a jerk,” I replied. “I hate him. I want to hit him in his stupid face.”
Joy’s eyes widened in surprise. “What did he do?”
“I’m think he’s using again.”
“Using what? Drugs?”
“Maybe. He was so wired last night. Like he couldn’t stand still, and he was talking nonstop. It was just on and on and on, you know. About nothing.”
“So, you think he’s on drugs?”
“Maybe.” I shrugged and shook my head. “I don’t know. There was something up with him.”
Taking a deep breath, I looked at the canvas. In my frenzy, I hadn’t taken the time to see what I’d done. It was beautiful. The angry brush strokes heightened the intensity of the crashing waves and gave it depth I hadn’t been able to accomplish in previous pieces.
“Wow.” I exhaled. “You were right. That’s good.”
“It is.” Joy nodded.
She sat next to me in silence, waiting for me to speak. When I didn’t, she took a deep breath and looked at me.
“I think you should break up with Devon,” she said.
I guessed the look on my face wasn’t good because she instantly defended her statement. “Hear me out, Tori. You said yourself he’s on drugs. People on drugs are dangerous. All they care about is getting more drugs. They hurt people, steal things, whatever they have to do. Is that really somebody you want to be around?”
“He’s not like that,” I replied.
“Not yet.”
“Last night was just a onetime thing. He won’t do it again.”
Thirty-One
Leaning against the rail separating the pool room from the rest of Ruckus, I glanced around the crowded dance club. Smoke had turned the air into a noxious mist that burned my eyes. I fought the urge to rub them, knowing I’d smear the makeup I’d carefully painting on my face.
As usual, the out-crowd gathered around the pool tables. Jake and Jeremiah taunted each other over a game while the girls chatted next to the bistro table where everyone kept their drinks.
“Hey, Tori,” Carter said.
I turned around to look at him. “Hey.”
“You okay?”
“Kind of bored. I think I might call Chris and have him pick me up.”
“Sure, you don’t want to hang around? I’ll let you beat me at a game of pool.”
>
“That’s okay. I want to go home and take off these stupid boots.”
I reached down to adjust the laces tucked into the top of my left boot. Then I looked at Carter. His eyes grazed the top of my head, and he struggled to hold back a grin. I started to turn around when a rough hand slid around my waist, resting on my exposed stomach.
“Did you miss me?” Devon whispered in my ear.
Goosebumps erupted on my skin. It was hard not to melt in his embrace. Taking a deep breath to stoke my resolve, I removed his hand and straightened my neck. “Don’t.”
“What’s wrong?” Devon asked.
“Nothing.” I masked my irritation with a smile. “I’m glad you’re here.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Are you?”
“Of course, I am.” I forced a giggled as I pushed onto my toes and gave him a peck on the cheek. From his suspicious expression, I knew he didn’t believe me. I’d never been good at lying to him. He had a sixth sense about it.
Marshal stepped around the end of the table, leaning against it and rubbing the cue stick in his hand. “Hey, man. Where you been?”
Devon looked sideways at him. “Around.”
“Richie wants to talk to you.” Marshal put a half-smoked cigarette to his lips.
“I heard. I’ll square shit with him tomorrow.” Devon turned back to me. “What’s going on with you?”
“Nothing.” I shook my head. “I’m fine.”
“What do you mean you’ll square it with him tomorrow?” Marshal raised his voice to regain Devon’s attention. “I took a lot of shit for you, dude. Richie is pissed.”
Devon looked at him, annoyed. “I said I’ll handle it.”
“Whatever, dude,” Marshal replied.
I thought I saw Devon roll his eyes, but it wasn’t something he normally did so I couldn’t be sure. He took a deep breath as he retrieved the cigarettes from his pocket. Putting one between his lips, he lit it with a blue disposable lighter.
“What happened to your lighter?” I asked.
“Lost it.” Devon shrugged. “You want something to drink?”
Broken Dreams (Spiraling Book 2) Page 18