Текст книги "Bang"

Автор книги: E. K. Blair

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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

IT’S BEEN THREE years since I was taken away from my home and placed in foster care. Three years since I’ve seen my dad. I was told he was trafficking guns to South America. I still don’t understand everything, but then again, I’m just an eight-year-old kid. A ward of the state of Illinois. Three years and I miss my dad every day. No one will take me to go see him since he’s over six hours away, serving his nine-year sentence in Menard Prison.

I sit in my room and wait on my caseworker, Barbara, to come pick me up to take me to my new home. Three years and I’m leaving my fifth home to go to my sixth. The first place I went was in the same town of Northbrook, where I’d lived. But after getting caught sneaking out of my bedroom window a few times during the night, they said they couldn’t manage me, and so I left. The same thing has happened at each home I’ve lived in.

At first I was scared. I cried a lot. I missed my dad and would scream for him, but he never came. I didn’t understand then, but I do now. I’m not gonna get to see him until he gets out. I’ll be fourteen years old. Fourteen is my new lucky number. I count everything in groups of fourteen just to remind myself that the time will come when I can see him again and we can go back to our life together in our nice house in our nice neighborhood. I miss his smile and the way he smelled. I can’t explain it, but sometimes when I’d be at preschool, I can faintly remember lifting my shirt to inhale his scent when I was missing him. The smell of my dad.

Comfort.

Home.

When I hear the doorbell ring, I know it’s time. I’ve been through several home switches before. You’d think I’d be scared, but I’m used to it now. So I grab my bags and head out to the front door. Barbara is standing there talking to Molly, the foster mom that doesn’t want to deal with me anymore. They both turn as I approach and say hi.

“You ready, Elizabeth?” Barbara asks.

Nodding my head, I walk past Molly as she places her hand on my shoulder, saying, “Wait.”

She kneels down to give me a hug, but I don’t return it. I’m sad, but I don’t cry; I just wanna leave, so when she lets go, that’s what I do.

While I sit in the passenger seat, watching the buildings pass by as Barbara drives, she turns down the radio and says, “Talk to me, kid.”

I hate when she calls me kid, like I’m not special enough for her to use my name. She only uses it when there are other people around, but alone, I’m kid.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“I’ve found five good homes for you, and you’ve managed to get kicked out of every one of them. You keep me busy, you know that?”

I’m not sure if she really wants a response, so I stay quiet before she adds, “You can’t keep sneaking out at night. What the hell are you doing out on the streets in the middle of the night anyway?”

“Nothing,” I mutter just to say something to appease her. Truth is, I started sneaking out to see if I could find Carnegie. Sounds stupid now, but when I was five, I thought he’d be there, waiting for me to find him. So I would sneak out and walk around, hoping to stumble upon that magical forest. It never happened, and now I’m old enough to know fairytales aren’t real, but I still sneak out and look for the forest anyway.

“Well, listen, I couldn’t find a home to place you in around here, so you’re gonna be in a different town. You’re not gonna be seeing me anymore since I don’t live there. I’m still going to handle your case, but Lucia will be your contact. She should be doing a visit with you later this week. But a piece of advice—stop causing issues or the next stop will be a group home.”

“So I won’t see you again?”

She looks over at me, saying, “Probably not, kid.”

We’ve been in the car for almost two hours when we finally exit the highway.

“Welcome to Posen,” Barbara says, and it isn’t but a couple minutes later when she pulls into a rundown neighborhood.

Chain-link fences run alongside the cracked sidewalks. The homes are old and small, unlike the large brick house I lived in with my dad. Most of these homes have cars parked on their unkempt lawns, chipped paint, and everything about what I’m seeing brings on a well of tears. My stomach knots, and I turn to Barbara, saying, “I don’t think I want to live here, Barb.”

“Shoulda thought about that when I told you to stop sneaking out at night.”

“I promise. I won’t do it again. I’ll say sorry to Molly,” I beg, and when she pulls into the drive of a dirty, old, two-story house that looks like it’s barely standing, I start crying. “Please. I don’t wanna live here. I wanna go home.”

She turns the car off and looks over at me. I feel like I’d do just about anything to convince her to turn the car around and take me back to Northbrook.

“I’m in a bind. You’re eight years old with an unstable home history. Now this family has been fostering for years. They are currently fostering a boy a few years older than you,” she tells me. “I talked to them just the other day. You’ll have your very own room and will go to the same school as their other foster kid.”

I keep my mouth shut and listen. I don’t want to be here. I wanna run, just open this car door and run as fast as I can. I wonder if she’d be able to catch me.

“You listening?” she asks and refocuses my attention back to her.

I nod my head.

“Come on. I’ve got a long drive back,” she says as she gets out of the car and opens the back door to grab my bags.

With a shaking hand, I open the door and follow her along the weathered driveway to the steps leading up to the front door. The rusted screen door squeaks loudly as she opens it and knocks a few times. I stand there, picking at my nails, praying to God that no one opens the door. That this is all a big mistake and we’re at the wrong house.

But it isn’t a mistake, and someone does answer the door. A woman, dressed in a homely, long, denim skirt and a light purple sweater, opens the door. I stare at her as Barbara starts to talk. The woman doesn’t look scary, but I still feel like bolting. She looks down at me and gives me a soft smile. Her ratty ponytail is attempting to tame her long, brown, frizzy hair.

Stepping aside, she invites us in, and the place smells like stale cigarette smoke. While she leads us through the small living room and back to the kitchen, the two of them continue to talk as I take everything in. Wood-paneled walls, brown carpet, mismatched furniture, and ducks everywhere. Everywhere. Ducks on pillows, wooden ducks, ceramic ducks, glass ducks. They line the book shelves, cover the tables, and when I look up, they are even on top of the kitchen cabinets.

“Elizabeth.”

It takes me a second to realize that Barbara is saying my name, and when I look over at her, she gives me one of her fake smiles and says, “Mrs. Garrison says that your bedroom is upstairs.”

“I hope you like purple,” the woman says to me as I look at her purple top and then back up to her face when she says, “You’re the first girl we’ve gotten, so I got a little carried away.”

Barbara gives me an annoyed look, nodding her head to encourage me to talk.

“Yeah,” I finally say. “Purple is nice.”

She smiles and lays her hand over mine. I want to snatch it away, but I don’t. I don’t do anything that my mind is screaming I should. I just sit.

“Well then, why don’t I help you up with your bags before I go?” Barbara says.

The three of us walk up the stairs as they creak beneath our feet and into the purple room. The walls match Mrs. Garrison’s sweater, and I watch as she shows me the closet and then the Jack-and-Jill bathroom that adjoins to the other bedroom.

“This seems like a great room, huh?” Barbara says when she plops my bags down on top of the purple twin bed.

“Mmm hmm.”

“Well, I have to get back on the road,” she tells me, and when she does, I feel the tears hit my cheeks.

Suddenly, I’ve never felt more alone. Empty.

“There’s no need to cry. You’re gonna be fine. I know that change can be hard, but you’ll be okay. Like I said, Lucia will be out to meet you in a few days, okay?”

“Okay.” It’s an auto-response because I’m far from okay.

With a light pat on my shoulder, Barbara leaves me behind, standing in the purple room with duck lady.

“Would you like me to help you unpack, dear?” she asks.

“I’ll do it.”

“Are you hungry? I could fix you a sandwich.”

I look up at her through the remaining tears in my eyes and nod my head.

“Great. We normally always eat at the kitchen table, but I’ll bring it up to you if you’d like.”

“Okay,” I say as I start unzipping my bags.

“Elizabeth,” she calls from the hall, right outside the bedroom, “I hope you’ll like it here. Carl, my husband, worked hard painting this room for you. He’s out running a couple errands, but should be home shortly.”

When I don’t respond, she excuses herself and heads downstairs, leaving me alone to unpack. Next to the bed is a small window that looks out over the front of the house. All the houses are the same aside from the various colors of paint. Everything looks decayed here.

I take my time putting my clothes away and eventually eat the peanut butter sandwich that Bobbi brought me. She told me to call her that rather than Mrs. Garrison.

Aside from a small dresser, desk, and bulletin board, the room is pretty bare. When I walk into the bathroom, the sink counter is already occupied with the other kid’s stuff. I wonder if he’s like me, how old he is, and if he’s nice. I feel like I need a friend more than ever right now. I’m so far from home and so alone.

A loud rumbling from outside calls my attention, and I walk over to look out the window. An old, grey, beat-up pickup truck pulls into the driveway. I watch as an older, fat guy gets out of the driver’s seat and starts walking towards the house. Then the boy gets out, but I can’t see what he looks like under his baseball cap.

I stay in my room and listen as they walk in, talk to each other, and then I hear the creaking of the stairs. Bobbi is the first one I see, followed by her husband.

“Elizabeth, how’s the unpacking going?” she asks.

“Good,” I say as I look at the man. He’s got a big belly, stains on his shirt, and long, messy hair.

“That’s good. This is Carl, my husband,” she introduces.

“Elizabeth, is it?” he asks.

Nod.

“You settling in all right?”

Nod.

“You don’t talk much, do you?”

Feeling like I need to say something, I mumble, “I’m just tired.”

“Well, I’ll leave you be then,” he says. “Glad to have you here.”

Bobbi smiles as Carl walks out and after she asks me how I’m doing and if I need anything, I lie and assure her that I’m fine. She closes the door behind her and as soon as she does, I see the light from the other bedroom flick on through the bathroom. I watch, and when I see the boy with the baseball cap, he turns to look at me.

“Hi,” he says as he stands on his end of the bathroom.

“Hi.”

Taking off his cap, he tosses it on his bed and runs his hand through his sweaty, dark brown, nearly black hair. He then walks through the bathroom and into my room, looking around.

“This color is sickening,” he says, giving me my first real smile in a long time.

“I lied,” I tell him. “I told her I like purple, but I don’t.”

“You been in the system long?”

“Three years.”

“Nine for me. I just got here a couple weeks ago.”

“Are they nice?” I ask.

He takes a seat on the bed next to me, and he smells like cigarette smoke and soap. “Bobbi hasn’t been here much. She just got back in town from some crafting show she did.”

“Crafting show?”

“Yeah, she makes wooden duck figurines and crap to sell at fairs, flea markets, and shit, so she’s gone a lot. Carl works at the auto mechanic shop down the road.” He pauses and then adds, “He drinks a lot.”

I don’t say anything, and we sit in silence for a moment before he asks, “How old are you?”

“Eight. You?”

“Eleven. Almost twelve. Name?”

“Elizabeth.”

“You scared, Elizabeth?”

Looking over at him, I pull my knees to my chest, wrap my arms around them, and nod, whispering, “Yeah.”

“It’ll be okay. Promise.”

I watch as a hint of a smile crosses his face and something about it tells me that I can believe him.

“I’m Pike, by the way.”

“WHERE THE FUCK have you been, Elizabeth?”

“I’m sorry,” I say as Pike loosens his hold on me. “I haven’t been able to get away, but I’m here now.”

Pike takes a step back, raking one hand through his thick, choppy, dark hair and releases a rough breath through his nose.

“Pike, come on. Don’t make me regret coming here. I only have tonight before Bennett comes back home.”

“I’m just sick of living in this shithole while you’re living your precious life in that fuckin’ penthouse. It’s been over three years¸” he bites and then falls back onto the couch.

Looking down at him, I try to soothe his irritation, “I know. I’m sorry, but you knew it would be like this. You knew this wouldn’t work if we moved fast.”

“Are you even working at it at all, Elizabeth? Because from where I’m standing, it seems you’ve gotten quite comfortable in your new life.”

“Don’t be a dick, Pike,” I say, raising my voice at him. “You know me better than that. You know I hate that asshole with everything I am.”

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees with his head dropped. Walking over to him, I sit down on the couch and start rubbing his hardened shoulder, muscles tense out of frustration.

“I’m sorry,” he quietly says, and sits back, pulling me with him and holding me.

I need the contact, need his touch. I always have, so I linger in it for a moment with my arm slung around his waist. I hate being away from him, but I know he hates it more. I don’t blame him. This is the shittiest place he’s lived, but he’s paying the owner of this trailer under the table to keep himself off the grid. He’s still hustling to get by, and here I am, lying in his arms wearing a goddamn Hermés coat that probably costs more than this crap-hole he lives in.

“It’s okay,” I assure him. “I’m sorry you’re stuck here, but it won’t be forever.”

“I’m beginning to wonder if it will.”

I swing my legs across his lap so that he can cradle me to his chest, and when I get comfortable in this new position, I tell him, “I met someone.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I think he’s interested.”

“You said that about the others. What makes you think this one is different?” he questions.

“I don’t know that he is, but it’s worth a shot, right?”

He doesn’t respond, and when I tilt my head back to look up at him, he locks eyes with me.

“I’m not giving up,” I say. “I need you to know that. I’ll do whatever it takes to get us that new beginning.”

He kisses me, slipping his hand behind my head to hold me close. The familiar taste of his clove cigarettes comforts me the way a blanket would a child. He’s my comfort. I’ve depended on him ever since I was a little girl. He’s protected me as an eight-year-old child and continues to, even though I’m now a twenty-eight-year-old woman.

The rough warmth of his tongue slides along mine, slowly, as he pulls back, ending our kiss.

“So who’s the unfortunate bastard?”

“His name’s Declan McKinnon. Bennett and I were at an event of his when I first met him.”

“What kind of event?” he asks.

“It was the opening of his hotel. He had a showy party with all the right names in attendance,” I tell him. “I don’t know much about him, but I do know that his father is a developer and has a long string of high-end hotels behind his name. I’m not sure how many Declan has his hands in, but that one for sure.”

“He seems too high profile,” he says as he shifts me off his lap and heads to the kitchen. “Beer?”

“Yeah.”

He pops the caps then hands me a bottle when he sits back down next to me.

“I know he’s not the ideal choice, and I wasn’t even going to mess with him, but he’s working with me on an event and we’re spending a lot of time together. I dunno . . .” I take a sip of my beer, and then add, “Time will only tell, but I can already see the intrigue. But I just met him, so I’m still trying to figure him out.”

“And what do you think so far?”

“I think he’s the type of guy who likes to have control. But at the same time, he seems amused when I get snarky with him. I already planted the seed that I’m a person that might need to be saved.” I laugh at the memory of being in his car just a couple hours ago. “I’m pretty sure he bought right into it. Stupid fool.”

“Has he touched you yet?” he clips.

“No, Pike. I’ve known the guy for a week; you know I don’t work that way. Men like to chase, so I’m gonna make him chase until he can’t resist.”

“You think he could possibly fall for you?”

“I’m hoping he does,” I tell him.

“I do too. I’m sick of living like this, babe. You have no idea,” he says as he clutches my face in his hands and looks me over. “Knowing that fuck has his hands on you . . .”

“I don’t feel it.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not,” I say, but I am. I try so hard to not feel Bennett’s hands on me. I work at staving off any orgasm with him, and I hate myself when my body isn’t strong enough to fight it and he makes me come. It happens every now and then and the bile that rises is a burning reminder of the weakness that still lives inside of me. A weakness I continue to try to kill off, but Pike would be pissed if he knew, so I lie, allowing him to believe that only he has that part of me. The part his eyes are telling me he wants right now.

“Tell me you hate him, Elizabeth,” he grits as he crawls on top of me, pushing my back down on the couch.

“I hate him.”

With a near growl, he crashes his mouth to mine, and the beer slips out of my hand, clanking against the floor. His tongue invades my mouth, hands grab locks of my hair, body pressing hard against mine. He takes over me, grinding his hard dick between my legs as I start fiddling with the buttons on his jeans. Once undone, I shove them down, past his hips, and he yanks mine down as well. We move quickly and carelessly. He sits back and jerks the pants off one of my legs.

“Show me your tits,” he demands, looking down at me.

I pull my top off and unclasp my bra, tossing it aside, and his rough hands are on them quick. He then takes his cock and pulls off a couple hard pumps while he twists one of my nipples between his fingers, sending a shockwave straight to my belly.

“You want me to take it away?”

“Yes,” I breathe.

“Say it. Tell me that you need me to take it away.”

He continues his torturous attack on my nipple before releasing and moving to the other. Pike knows I need him to numb. He’s always allowed me to use him like this. To numb the pain. Numb the past. Numb the present. Fucking Pike is my personal narcotic, and I’m long overdue for a hit. The words are near agony, when I give him what he loves to hear, “You’re the only who can make it go away, Pike.”

He lowers his head, sucking the abused bud into his mouth.

“Ohh, God, Pike. Fuck me. Just do it,” I beg.

He quickly rips his shirt off, revealing the ink splayed across his chest and arms, before shoving my panties to the side and thrusting himself inside me. A volatile transgression as the sounds of our flesh slapping together fill the room. I grab his ass, urging him harder, and he gives it, pounding into me.

Closing my eyes, I drift away to where nothing exists but the pleasure that builds inside. His carnal grunts heat my ear with his breath as he buries his head in the crook of my neck. We fuck filthy, like animals. The denim of his jeans that are shoved below his ass chafe the backs of my thighs while we grind ourselves into each other, my butt off the couch as I meet his thrusts with my own. Greedy.

He grabs my hips as he sits back on his knees, bringing my pussy up to him when he starts slamming into me at a brutal pace.

“Fuck, Pike,” I pant as I reach both my arms over my head and grip the arm of the couch.

The swell of his dick inside of me as he gets close causes an eruption of fire, singeing its way through my veins as he makes me come. I go rigid, tensing up to get the most out of the orgasm, grinding my clit against his pelvis. A few seconds later he crashes into me and stills, letting go of a guttural hiss, as he shoots his tranquilizing disease inside of me.

Collapsing his sweaty chest on top of mine, our labored breaths are heavy, and I’m pacified. For as long as I keep my eyes closed so I don’t have to see the best friend that I just used, I’m okay.

Pike gives me a sick power that I crave. The power to take control, if even for a moment. Using him to clean me of the rot that contaminates me. And he gets off on being the one who can do that. To be the only person who can take it away, making my body a tomb. But now, as he slips his softening dick out from inside me, his warm cum running between my thighs when I sit up, I’m bathed in degradation, and he knows it. It’s always the same.

He pulls me into his arms as he sits back after tugging his pants up. With his hand rubbing my back, I swallow hard as I attempt to control the feelings of shame.

“Why do you still feel this way?” he asks, knowing me all too well.

I don’t respond. He’s used to my silence after we have sex. What could I say that he doesn’t already know? The thing is, I know Pike loves me in a way I don’t share. He’s my brother and my best friend. But to him, I’m more. He’s never come right out and said it, but I know it anyway. It doesn’t stop him from fucking other girls, but I know he needs it. Pike has a thing for sex; he likes a lot of it. More than the average person I would assume. It’s never bothered me since I don’t view sex much differently than one would toilet paper. Using it to wipe away the shit-stain of life, and when you feel clean, you flush it and walk away.

“You don’t need to feel like this. I don’t care that you use me in this way. I love you, so you can have it. If it makes you feel better, then just take it,” he says. “I’d rather you let me do this for you than allowing someone else.”

His words make it even worse, so I pull back and shift to slide my leg back into my pants. He watches as I grab the rest of my clothes and walk to the bathroom.

After I clean myself up and put my clothes back on, I walk out to see Pike wiping up the beer I spilled all over the floor.

“Sorry,” I say as I stand there, and when he walks past me to throw away the wad of paper towels, he responds, “I don’t care about the beer.”

“I’m sorry for more than just the beer,” I tell him. “I wish I could give you more money.”

“I knew what I was signing up for. We both did. It’s too risky, so just ignore my bullshit,” he says as he walks back to the couch and motions for me to sit next to him. He pulls out a cigarette and lights it, taking in a long drag and then adding, “I just missed you,” as the smoke drifts out of his mouth, forming a vaporous cloud in front of his face. “When will you be able to get back here again?”

“More often after the New Year. Bennett has a busy travel schedule, and I’m sure it’s gonna be even busier now.”

“Why’s that?”

“He just bought another production plant earlier this week in Dubai, so I imagine he’ll be going back to oversee the new outfit on the place and get it up and running,” I explain.

“That’s good for us,” he laughs and I join him.

“My thoughts exactly,” I say through a thick smile that I let wane when I ask, “How’ve you been?”

“You know how it is. Nothing has changed for me,” he tells me. Pike has always found a way to skate by, pulling small cons and such. But he makes most of his money selling drugs. I used to as well. When we got out of the system, we lived with one of his friends that Pike worked for, dealing drugs. Pike was the middleman, putting himself on the street to sell product and made a decent amount of money doing so.

“You need anything?”

“For you to get your head on straight with this one.”

“I’ve got my head on straight, Pike.” I hate when he talks to me like that. Like I don’t know what the hell I’m doing when I’m the one pulling the biggest con here, putting his skills in the sewer. “My focus has never wavered. But I need you to trust me. I know what I’m doing.”

“Just be careful. Hands clean, remember?”

I nod and then grab the remote to turn on the TV. We spend the next few hours hanging out like we used to, but before it gets too late, I know I have to leave and head back into the city.

“With the holidays coming up, don’t get mad if I can’t get away, okay? I’ll try, but until January, it’ll be hard.”

“I get it. Don’t do anything stupid trying to come see me,” he says as we stand up and walk to the door.

I grab my coat and slip it on, then turn to give him a long hug. It’s hard to leave him, knowing he’s here in the shit-hole. He’s the only family I have and to not have any contact with him is scary for me since I know how easily family can be taken away. So with my cheek pressed to his chest, I take in his scent and hold on to it while he runs the fingers from both of his hands through my hair and down to my face. Cupping my jaw, he angles me to look up at him. His brown eyes are intense when he asks, “Hard as steel?”

“Yeah,” I breathe.

He taught me, at an early age, how to live without emotions. How to wrap that steel cage around my heart, always telling me that no one can ever hurt you if you can’t feel. So I don’t. Outside of Pike, there’s no one I’ll give that to because emotions are what make people weak. And I can’t afford to make that slip. The heart is a weapon—a self-inflicting weapon—that if not trained properly, can destroy a person.