Holding Her in Madness (9 page)

Okay, so Mr. Shaw is gonna be a hard sell.

I’ve never been good with authority figures—or authoritative assholes—but I think I can keep my mouth shut the fuck up long enough to hear what he has to say after I give him my spiel and my plans for Lil’s and my future.

I can just say ‘Yes, sir,’ and ‘No, sir.’

I can. And I will—for my little firecracker I’ll bite my damn tongue, be polite. I’ll make sure Mr. Shaw knows how much I love Lil and that I’d do anything in the world, in my power, to make my girl happy.

And no matter what, I’ll keep my fuckin’ mouth shut about the baby.

Because it doesn’t matter what Mr. Shaw wants. Once that baby makes itself known, there will be nothing keeping me away from my firecracker. Not one damn thing.

A smile spreads across my face when I think about the ace I have up my sleeve. Excitement zips through my nerve endings. I stand up, pulling a long, deep drag off my cigarette before flicking it into the ashtray. Getting back to work, I let the heavy feeling and gut-twisting thoughts that my discussion with Josh caused to weigh my shoulders down and make me sick to my stomach slip away just like that. Just that easy.

They can’t keep me away from Lil. I’m the father of her baby. I’m gonna marry my firecracker. And there isn’t a single fucking thing that will stop me either.

The sun’s setting, and I’ve just finished sweeping out the shed. Everything’s been cleared out, and I got the fuse box working again so the lights work. “Not fuckin’ bad at all if I do say so myself.” I can’t help but feel proud of this little shed. It’s going to be the perfect place to get my bike fixed up.

“Yep, fucking perfect,” I sigh then scoop up the last box of old shit I decided was ‘not trash’ and head around the house to put it on the front porch for Grands to go through when she gets a chance. I’ve just rounded the corner, the sun blinding me for a second. When I hear a car skidding to a stop in our gravel driveway, I lift my hand to block the sun.

I know exactly who it is as soon as I lay eyes on David Shaw. The box in my hands slips from my grasp and hits the ground. “You motherfucking piece-of-shit punk!”

The lump of brick lodged in my throat causes my words to come out choked. “Mr. Shaw, I was actually just about to hop in the shower and head to y’all’s house. I...ah... I’d like to speak to you and Mrs. Shaw if that’s okay. Is Mrs. Shaw with yo—”

That’s all I get out before my head is splitting open on the concrete curb of the driveway. I go to open my mouth to tell him, “Mr. Shaw, I’m in love with your—” but my well-planned declaration is cut off by a barrel of a handgun being shoved so far into my mouth I’m gagging on it.

Tears are flooding my eyes as the pressure from the gun in my mouth shoves the back of my head against the curb, pushing pieces of gravel and bark into the open wound.

My fuckin’ world tilts off its axis.

My damn vision tunnels.

I shake my head, trying to stay conscious, but it only drives more grit and dirt into my head wound. I feel warm blood seep across the arch of my neck and run in rivulets down the skin, covering my spine.

I gag more forcefully around the pistol’s barrel, trying hard to heave breaths in around both the barrel and my gagging.

I’m not succeeding, and I feel myself being pulled into unconsciousness before Mr. Shaw’s words yank me back.

“If you ever come near my daughter again, statutory rape charges won’t be your problem. As a matter of fact, you won’t have any problems at all. Listen to me, ‘cause I’ll only ever say this one time, you piece of shit. The next time my nine millimeter is in your mouth, I won’t just be putting a bullet in a chamber. I’ll put a bullet in your worthless head.”

I’m still dry heaving and on the verge of passing out when he stands, jerking me up by my hair.

Then I’m slammed against my car with the gun to my forehead when he delivers the final blow, the one that destroys whatever hope I ever had of keeping my firecracker. It shatters every-fucking-thing I ever thought was my life and future with Lillian.

With these words, the man standing in front of me rips out my soul and throws it aside like the disgusting piece of trash that I am.

“You didn’t really think Lillian would ever really want you, did you? Shit even as young as she is, she knows you’re nothing but a piece of shit trash. You’re white fucking trash, kid. She knows it. You know it. She doesn’t want anything from you. She never wants to fucking see you again. SHE called you white trash. SHE said she was never serious about you.”

The motherfucker might as well have launched a torpedo into my chest and just sat back and watched. Unbearable, crippling pain explodes in my chest, shredding my insides like fucking shrapnel.

I’m hollowed out of anything remotely resembling the man I was ten minutes ago. But he just keeps on letting his words crush and smear the wasted remains of the man who fell in love with the one, his one, his little firecracker.

“Now if you hadn’t treated her like some low-life, piece-of-shit trashy bitch, the way I’m sure you treat all the other girls you hang around, I wouldn’t have to go to the extremes that I am—that I will—to ensure your trashy ass never speaks to my daughter again. See, I know that she said she doesn’t care about you, nor does she ever want to talk to you, much less see you again. But just to make damn sure that happens, I’m going to tell you what will be my first move as soon as I hear or find out that you’ve even tried to call Lil, tried to send her a note, any communication at all with my daughter. I swear to you that I’ll send her ass away, FAR away, and I’ll send your ass to jail. You’re eighteen, right?”

I nod, but before I can get ‘Yes, sir’ out he’s back in my face with the gun, pushing into my head harder with every word he spits at me.

“I want your ass outta town or I’ll have your ass thrown in jail for statutory rape. Never fucking talk to her again. Five years from now, you see her across the street, you turn around and walk your trashy piece-of-shit ass the other way. Understand me, son?”

“Yes, sir,” comes through my gritted teeth.

“Tonight, son. I want your ass to go back to wherever the fuck you came from tonight. Don’t make me send Lillian away from her family and friends because you’re too fucking selfish to do the right thing for once in your shitty life.”

He turns around, gets in his car, and then he’s gone.

“Holy fucking shit, dude! Are you fuckin’ okay?” Josh is standing beside me, and he rips his t-shirt off, holding it to the back of my head. “I was headed over here to help you out, but when I saw the gun, I just stayed back. No sense in both our asses getting shot.”

I stagger around the back of the house and through the back door into my room, kicking my boots off and stripping down to my boxers. I fall beside the wall next to my bathroom and lean my shoulder against it until my room stops spinning.

“Leo, you gotta go to the ER. Your head has a hole in it the size of a fucking baseball.”

“I...juss gatta wassh thiss shit off firss... Juss gatta...”

Shit, I’m gonna pass out. I hold on to the wall with one hand and slide my leaning shoulder against the wall until I’m in the bathroom.

“Fuck. Here.” Josh turns on the shower, grabs me by the upper arm, and helps me get under the spraying water. “Leave your fuckin’ boxers on, dude. Sit the fuck down.”

I can’t help but sit down.

I slide down the shower stall and feel Josh squirt shampoo on my head. “Use your own hands to wash your fuckin’ hair out, dude. You got mud and blood all matted up in it.”

I have one hand barely keeping me upright and the other doing a half-assed job of scrubbing the shit out of my hair when I feel a soapy rag slap me on my shoulder.

“I got it all soapy. Just wash up real quick. Here’s your towel and some dry boxers. You got five minutes before I knock. If you don’t say you’re ready, then I’m going to go get my ma and have her ass drag you outta the shower, you hear me?”

“Fuck ya.” My head falls forward under the shower spray, and I use the rag to wash off. Once I hear the door close, I use the hand on the wall that’s been holding me up to lean back and lie down.

Then I use both my hands to get the wet boxers off. I pick the rag back up and start washing the dirt and grit off my face for a second before the anguish takes over any strength I have left and both my arms fall to my sides.

All I can do is lie there, shoulders shaking from my silent sobs. I just lie there and fucking cry. I don’t know how long I’m in the damn shower crying like a fucking baby.

Josh’s knocking on the door pulls me from my bitch-ass pussy crying spell. “Man, you all right? You ready?”

“No! Juss hang on!” I use my foot to turn off the water and roll over onto my stomach, heaving myself up with both hands. I wrap the towel around my waist and sit on the closed toilet lid, dry off, and pull my boxers up. When I look down, I see blood all over the floor and walls. It’s fucking everywhere. “Kay, commin, gatta go, Joss. Too much blahd, dooo.”

The door opens and I hear Josh scream, “Shit! Somebody fuckin’ HELP!”

Then I’m falling forward, my head is going face-first into the bathroom floor tile. Thank God I black the fuck out before I hit.

When I wake up, I’m confused. I can’t remember the last thing that happened. I have no idea where the hell I’m at or what the fuck I did to my face, throat, and the back of my head.

Shit, was I in another fight? I’ve been doing better keeping my cool since moving here. I try to think back... I don’t have any problems with anybody. Shit, do I?

No. Hell, I haven’t done a damn thing since moving here besides hang out with Josh and April. And Lil...

WHAM!

Everything comes flooding back, and the second my foggy mind processes it, a ragged sob escapes my sore throat.

I feel a cool soft hand brush my arm before I hear a woman whisper, “Shhh, it’s okay, honey. You hurtin’? The doctor left pain meds ordered for you, sugar.” She taps under my chin, and I open my tear-filled eyes to see the most wrinkled face that holds the most beautiful, sparkling eyes I swear I’ve ever seen.

She looks older than ninety in her skin, but her eyes are about the clearest and bluest I’ve seen since my baby sister’s newborn eyes. “Tell ya what. When I ask you for a number, you say ten.” She winks her right sapphire eye at me, and I can’t help the grin pulling up on the right side of my busted lips. “You say a ten, and I’ll get you the real good stuff, handsome.” She rocks her shoulders and drawls her words out when she says ‘Real good stuff.’ I smile and nod.

“‘Kay sugar, now tell Ole CeCe what’s your pain? One being no pain, or ten being awful, terrible kinda hurtin’.” Her eyebrows shoot up to her hairline.

“It’s a ten, Miss CeCe.” My voice is so gravelly I don’t recognize it. I cough, trying to clear my throat.

“Oh, honey, don’t do that. I found some trauma to the roof of your mouth, around your tonsils, and the back of your throat during my assessment when the EMS boys first brought you in. Not sure what the hell happened. Your friend said he found you in your bathroom passed out on the floor. So he wasn’t any help. I’m gonna go get you something for your pain, maybe some ice chips, and then you and me are gonna have ourselves a little chat.”

She runs her hands along the bed linens, straightening them up, then sets a remote on the bed. “That there is your call bell, sugar. You hit that if you need Ole CeCe now, ya hear?”

I nod and she quietly leaves, closing the door behind her.

As soon as the door shuts, anxiety wraps around my chest and throat at the same time. It constricts around my lungs and windpipe and I can’t breathe.

I lost her.

I lost my firecracker.

She’s fucking gone. All the pain in every nerve receptor on my physical body can’t match the pain tearing me apart inside once this thought hits me.

“She’s fuckin’ gone...” rasps out, falling from my lips before I can bite my mouth shut. The sound of the door closing has my eyes snapping back open.

“Ooohhh...shush now, honey.” Her fingers are untangling the IV lines. I relax back into the pillow then hear Miss CeCe whisper, “This is gonna make the sting on the outside go away. Now, it won’t do a damn thing for the pain on the inside. I’m sorry, but it won’t. After you feel it hit ya, eatcha some ice chips, dear. Then you relax and get ready. I got some questions for ya, sugar. And they ain’t gonna feel good talkin’ ‘bout it.”

My eyelids flutter closed, and I let out a sigh. Before I can inhale my next breath, the meds hit me. And fuck it feels good. So fucking good that it takes both the pain on the outside and the inside away.

Feels as good as my firecracker on a blanket under the stars by the lapping water of the lake against the beach. It feels like home.

There’s only one place I’ve ever felt at home. That’s in Lil’s arms, with her fingers running through my hair, her breath skating across my skin, her laughing with her mouth against my ear, or me on top of her as she falls apart from my touch and when we’re making love.

I fucking love this damn shit. “Miss CeCe, what’s that you just gave me? What’s the name of it?”

“Son of a... Dammit, I asked that boy that came in with ya if you were allergic to anything. You allergic to Dilaudid, honey?”