“Shannon!” Troy’s voice roars through the small apartment. I flinch inwardly, but keep my face carefully stoic. He’s clearly just realized there’s no dinner on the table.
The bedroom door flies open and he’s standing there, his hair messed and his hands clenched into fists as he breathes heavily. “What the fuck are you doing?” he snarls, taking a step into the room. His foot hits my suitcase and he looks down at it . . . then back at my pale face. “Going somewhere?”
“I-I can’t do this, Troy,” I stammer, tears already filling my eyes. “I have to go home.”
“Home?” he sneers, kicking my suitcase. “Home?” he’s shouting now. “This is your fucking home. Did I say you could go anywhere?”
I’m so scared, but suddenly I’ve had enough. I’m so tired of the abuse, the humiliation . . . the pain. I straighten up and stare at him through my tears. “No, you didn’t. But I’m going anyway.”
I’m not prepared for how quickly he flies across the room, tackling me onto the bed as he punches my face. Blood spurts from my nose and my head twists to the left as stars burst in front of my eyes. His large hands wrap around my throat and squeeze tightly, cutting off my air. I fumble around for his fingers, trying to pull them away. But it’s a weak effort on my part.
For the first time in my miserable life, I wish for death. I welcome it. Embrace it. My hands drop away as my eyes close and my chest burns from lack of oxygen. But I’m not afraid, I see my momma and daddy waiting for me beyond the pain.
I’m snapped back to reality as Troy makes a noise of disgust and shoves his hands away from my throat. The pain rushes forward and I cough violently as my deprived lungs suck in great mouthfuls of air. My vision slowly comes back into focus, and tears prick the corners of my eyes as the image of my parents fades away. Troy climbs off me and leaves the room, slamming the door behind him. I hear his bike start up and tear down the road, but I still can’t bring myself to move from the bed. Why didn’t he just let me die? Does he really hate me that much that he’d force me to live? A brief image flashes in my mind of the bottle of sleeping pills in the bathroom . . . but deep down I know I could never take my own life.
I slowly sit up, the burning in my chest is almost gone, but a heaviness remains as I look at my suitcase still by the bedroom door.
Two hours later I’m on a bus, using money from the secret savings account I’ve been squirreling away for the past two years to get home.
As the bus leaves the city behind, and I get my first glimpse of the beautiful Texan countryside I haven’t seen in so many years, a small bubble of laughter works its way up from my belly. A moment later tears are coursing down my cheeks as I shriek with laughter. The other people on the bus look at me as if I’ve fucking lost my mind, and maybe I have. But right now I don’t care.
I’m free. I’m fucking free.
“Shannon,” Keets panicked voice calls out, rousing me from my daydream. I glance up at him, embarrassed at having been caught not focusing on my job. “What’s up?” I ask, smoothing my hair down with my hand.
“It’s Stone,” he says grimly, his mouth set in a tight line as he pushes his glasses up on his nose with a lone index finger. My blood runs cold as a sinking feeling settles in the pit of my stomach.
“You need to see this.”
My hand shakes as I lift the glass to my lips, draining the last few drops of beer left behind by a customer. I’m hiding out the back of Saddles, numerous bottles and glasses around me. I’m disgusted with myself, but I can’t fucking stop. If only Shannon hadn’t thrown away my beer, I wouldn’t be reduced to draining the dregs from paying customers. I got lucky earlier, one group of customers left pretty quickly, not bothering to finish their drinks. I had about eight full glasses of whiskey that has left me with a nice buzz. So why aren’t I happy?
Fucking Shannon. I’m fucking beyond furious. How dare she throw away my beer? It’s the only thing getting me through every damn day, what does she expect me to do now?
As though my thoughts have magically conjured her up, the back door of the bar opens and she steps out, squinting at the sudden brightness of the sun as it hits her in the eye. Raising a hand across her eyes to block it out, she spots me sitting against the wall and regards me with a thin purse of her lips.
I grimace as Keets appears over her shoulder; no second guesses are necessary to know who sold me out.
“Thanks a lot, man,” I slur, nodding at Keets as I raise a glass toward them. “Nice to know you’ve got my back.”
“I do have your back,” Keets protests, starting to step forward, but Shannon’s small hand on his chest stops him mid-stride. I growl under my breath when she doesn’t immediately move her hand, a keen jealousy building in me, making my chest heavy.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Shannon snaps, glaring at me as I blink in surprise. Why the hell is she angry at me? She’s the one who threw out the beer and reduced me to this.
“I’m waiting to die,” I answer, a little disturbed at how easily the statement slips off my tongue.
“It can’t be that bad,” Keets says with a small laugh. I shoot him a look that stops him in his tracks. Now’s not the time for his fucking jokes.
“Stone, I think you need to go home,” Shannon says gently, her earlier anger seems to have dissipated as she moves to kneel beside me in the gutter. Shame washes over me as I realize the gravity of the situation. I’m lying in the fucking gutter, drinking the last dregs of alcohol from someone else’s glass. When did I become so dependent on booze that I would stoop to this level? An unsettling feeling grows in the pit of my stomach, and before I can stop myself I’m leaning forward, losing the contents of my guts onto the cement. As I’m heaving, I feel her gentle hand on my back and I’m instantly embarrassed. She’s not to blame for my problems . . . I am.
I need help, how the fuck do I get over an addiction that’s completely consumed me? Am I even worth saving? I’ve done some pretty shitty things in my life, but is it possible that Shannon sees past my imperfections? My whole body is shaking beneath her touch. I’m so vulnerable, so weak . . . so human. Tears burn behind my eyes, nothing will hold them back now. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut as the first tear caresses my cheek, and soon my body is wracked with deep, shuddering sobs. I hate that I’m helpless. I’m the strong soldier, yet here I am crying like a bitch.
Shannon’s arms wrap around my neck and I cling to her like a buoy in the ocean. She can save me . . . she has to. “Save me,” I whisper brokenly against her soft hair. The tears begin to ebb and fade as she pushes back gently to look at my face. She cups it with a small smile, “of course,” she whispers, stroking my cheek with her thumb. “We’ll help you.”
We . . . I’d almost forgotten about Keets. I glance up at him, embarrassed, as I wipe away the last of my tears.
“It’s okay,” he says gruffly as he crouches down beside us and places a comforting hand on my shoulder. “We’ll get you through this.”
I have no idea how they think they’re going to get me through this. I’ve reached rock bottom, how can I begin to climb back up and out of this hole I dug? I want to tell her to leave while she can, I’m so close to telling her all about the young girl that haunts my nightmares. But I don’t. I can’t.