Текст книги "Run"
Автор книги: Holly Hood
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RUN
HOLLY HOOD
Booktrope Editions
Seattle, WA 2015
COPYRIGHT 2015 HOLLY HOOD
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.
Attribution – You must attribute the work in the manner specified by the author or licensor (but not in any way that suggests that they endorse you or your use of the work).
Noncommercial – You may not use this work for commercial purposes.
No Derivative Works – You may not alter, transform, or build upon this work.
Inquiries about additional permissions
should be directed to: [email protected]
Cover Design by Yosbe Design
Previously self-published as Run, 2015
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to similarly named places or to persons living or deceased is unintentional.
PRINT ISBN 978-1-5137-0489-0
EPUB ISBN 978-1-5137-0539-2
Library of Congress Control Number: 2015918342
CONTENTS
TITLE PAGE
COPYRIGHT
ALSO BY HOLLY HOOD
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
DEDICATION
BIRTH
JUNE 7TH
JUNE 8TH
JUNE 16TH
JUNE 17TH
JUNE 18TH
JUNE 20TH
JUNE 21ST
JUNE 23RD
JUNE 25TH
JUNE 27TH
JUNE 28TH
JULY 2ND
JULY 4TH
JULY 5TH
JULY 7TH
JULY 8TH
JULY 9TH
JULY 10TH
JULY 12TH
JULY 15TH
JULY 19TH
JULY 21ST
JULY 22ND
JULY 23RD
JULY 25TH
JULY 26TH
JULY 27TH
JULY 28TH
ONE YEAR LATER
AUTHOR’S NOTE
MORE GREAT READS FROM BOOKTROPE
ALSO BY HOLLY HOOD
Ink (Ink Series Volume 1-5)
Wicked Little Sins (Sin Series)
Get To me (8th Sin Series)
Visit Holly Hood’s website at simplyhollyhood.com
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I think we all have that one person in our lives that means so much, who is selfless, who thinks of everyone else before themselves. Cheers to all the Masons in the world.
Thank you to everyone who enjoys my books. I hope you enjoy this one as well. Last, but certainly not least, thank you to my family for putting up with my writing obsession. I know I do it a lot.
For my sister
You have always been beautifully flawed.
I wish one day you see your inner beauty!
One day I hope your struggles aren’t so much!
But most of all, I love you, even on the days I don’t like you very much!
BIRTH
YOU’D THINK MY PARENTS would be proud the day I was born—they weren’t. My mother didn’t get the cute little baby shower where ladies gather for gift giving in joyous anticipation of the new arrival. My father wasn’t smoking “It’s a Girl” cigar with his friends to celebrate my arrival. That wasn’t my life.
I was born in the county jail—a whole six pounds of bouncing baby girl with a head full of chestnut brown hair. My mom, Joy-Ann, was just seventeen when I came into her life.
She was the opposite of her name in every way.
When you’re born behind bars it’s a sad introduction to the world. Nobody cares about you. You’re just another pathetic statistic.
My mother had been serving time for shoplifting. Instead of doing meaningful things with her life, she got knocked up by my father and did all of his dirty work, including helping him sell drugs to the local teens.
Leon Talbert Halstead III–he’s my father. Only minutes after my birth he was on top of a roof trying to escape the police.
I’ve read the newspaper article many times. It’s as if I were right there. A chopper circled overhead while the entire town was glued to their television sets as my father made the worst mistake of his life.
He was twenty and not very smart. He wasn’t skilled in any type of legitimate work, so he lived a life of crime and abusing drugs; and, of course, getting my teenage mother pregnant.
The newspaper said my father shouted he was never going back to jail. The police told him that he had a baby girl and needed to change his ways. I imagine the helicopter whipping his hair as he raised both of his middle fingers to the cops and shouted, “I never wanted that baby anyway—not ever!” This is the part that has seared my mind forever. My father, Leon Talbot Halstead III, stood there staring down at the officials, then proceeded to take a flying leap off the back of the building…Yeah, just like you’ve seen happen so many times in the movies. Maybe it served him right to fall and break almost every bone in his body and get nearly mauled to death by the police dogs below.
My father was famous for being a loser–a loser who wanted nothing to do with me since the day I was born.
JUNE 7
TH
“YOU CAN’T TRUST ANYONE but yourself. That’s the best advice I can give you,” Aunt Wanda said, waving her hand around for effect and slicing through the air with her cigarette. “Especially men…men only want to hurt you. Be kept by no one and make your own rules. If you want to be rich, rob a bank. If you want to be successful, take it all on your own; don’t wait for it to come to you.” She took another drag from her cigarette, letting out a puff of smoke. “Live under the thumb of no man. Don’t let anybody decide what you’re going to do with your life. It will never get you anywhere, okay?” She downed the can of beer that’d been wedged between us in the front seat and took another puff of her cigarette.
She wasn’t a very smart woman, but she always offered a lot of good advice.
Her name was Wanda. And she hated her name as much as the parents who gave it to her.
She hated my mother Joy-Ann, too, so I guess you could say that’s where the trip down “Hatredville” began.
She said my mother had gotten a better name, as well as the good looks. She really thought she deserved everything she got. I couldn’t deny that it seemed Aunt Wanda got the short end of the stick a lot in her life, but sometimes that’s all you could expect when you were raised by trash.
We weren’t good people. We never wanted to be. And even if we knew how, it just wasn’t instilled in our bloodline.
We came from a long line of degenerates, from people that knew how to scrape by and hit the road when life got tough. We didn’t wait around and try to fix things. We ran. If you were different, you could last; if you weren’t, then well, the hell with you.
If we hated you there was going to be hell to pay. That’s the reason I was with Wanda. She hated my mother with every fiber of her being. She would have hated me, too, but I’d been too much of a help in doing my mother in. Aunt Wanda said sooner or later she’d hate me just as much.
“You’re too pretty. You need more than looks to get by. But if you have looks, use it to your advantage. You’re going to break a lot of hearts. Hell, you’ll want to, and if they don’t let you, then you break their face,” she said.
Aunt Wanda was a looker in her day—I was sure of it. I’d seen photographs. She had brilliant blue eyes and the best hair a girl could have wanted back in her time.
She was born on the edge of the sixties where love, sex, and drugs all mixed into a twisted game of life for everyone.
My mother came along three years after Aunt Wanda and, according to her, she took the spotlight for some reason. From the start, Aunt Wanda hated her.
It became her goal in life to make my mother hurt.
It’s been twelve years since Wanda took me from my mother’s house. That night my mother was banging some guy in her bedroom…I could hear their screams of pleasure coming through my bedroom wall. I didn’t know much about sex, but I could tell she liked every minute of it. I’d have put on headphones if I’d had any, but I didn’t. So I just hummed along to a song I’d heard on the way to school one day.
My mother cared about two things: money and sex. And she learned at a very young age that you could get one with the other. So she used it to her advantage–she had a lot of sex to get money. Some called it prostitution, but she called it being clever with her female parts.
Wanda had showed up at our house one day threatening to burn it down. I convinced her to give up on that idea and she settled on taking me with her instead. She said eventually my mother would see that I was worth something—like making her pockets fatter. This was her chance to stick it to her good.
I left with Wanda. It was better than nothing. I was pretty sure we were close to eviction. I hated the thought of moving out of the only real home I’d known. It wasn’t about love or sadness, because I didn’t much care for my mother. She never gave me a reason to care, so I figured it served her right.
Aunt Wanda slammed the old beat-up Toyota into park, and it whined like a beaten animal as it came to a shaky stop. She smashed her cigarette out in the ashtray—her red nails were worn and dirty.
“We’ll stay at Jon’s for the night and leave in the morning,” she said. This was our routine when we were running low on cash. We went to one of the many guys she knew and found a way to get what we needed.
Getting what we needed meant a couple of things. Sometimes Wanda needed to steal. Sometimes the men were so deplorable, all it took was something sexual. Other times it was so incredibly bad I knew we were going to hell. Those were the moments I couldn’t stomach.
Aunt Wanda was a master at mind games. To her, it was an art. Cheating was her best quality. Anything she wanted was possible. It was hard to deny that she was right when she was doing so much wrong all the time.
A thick fog crawled all around us. We were somewhere in Georgia from what I could remember of the long drive. After a while, I crawled into the backseat, tuning out the old car’s moans and groans, and fell asleep.
Wanda slammed the door shut. She looked up at the old house and its one lonesome light that lit up the old window. She pulled her hair down, shaking it out. Her auburn cloak of hair still had life as it fell around her shoulders, spilling onto her weathered tan. Her fingers crawled to her shirt, pulling at the buttons, until she was happy with the amount of cleavage showing.
“Okay, grab just the one suitcase,” she said in a hurry. She made her way through the long grass to the front door. I did as I was asked, letting the suitcase drop at my side, and slammed the trunk shut.
I was hot. All I wanted was a shower. As I headed up to the house, Aunt Wanda let out a laugh when some man opened the door, a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. He beckoned her in, shutting the door without giving me a glance. This wasn’t unusual. It was a fend-for-yourself kind of arrangement—something I’d grown used to.
I gave a quick knock before going through the door into the smoke-filled home. The sound of classic rock filled the rooms, and several men sat on old furniture, beer cans scattered on the coffee table, along with overflowing ashtrays.
I dropped the suitcase next to the door. I was never all that timid, but the first few minutes when I was trying to adapt to another new environment made me nervous.
I stayed close to the door, doing my best to avoid looking at the men watching Cops on TV. I counted the exits carefully, trying to be discreet as I took in every detail of the house. I never knew what might happen next and my only way to stay ahead of things was to take it all in and be prepared.
“Kendall!” Aunt Wanda yelled.
I followed her voice to the kitchen. She was sitting at the kitchen table killing off a tallboy. The man who opened the door stared at me. I immediately found the back door, one lock and a chain.
“This is your niece? The one you were telling me about?” he asked, tossing a card down on the table. His eyes went to my chest. I shrank back. I knew what kind of man he was.
“She’s barely twenty, you sick bastard. Kendall, Jon says you can shower and sleep. We’re going to take off,” she told me.
I nodded, knowing that meant one of two things. Either Aunt Wanda was planning on getting trashed and stealing Jon’s money, or she was planning on sleeping with him and then stealing his money.
I sized him up. He wasn’t much to look at. Not that tall and not that slim.
He ran his hand across his stubble, watching Wanda leave the room. The stubble growth showed me he hadn’t cared to shave in probably a week or so. I watched his eyes dash from one part of my body to another—a normal thing creepy older men did. It was their way to get a quick fantasy under their belt when they weren’t allowed to have the real thing. I knew what was on his mind. It was the same thing on all their minds.
“There’s a towel in the closet for when you take that shower. You can sleep in my bed while were out. It’s the last door on the left.” He nodded toward the hallway.
I didn’t reply. The less I said the better the odds he would stay away from me.
“Jon, let’s go, the bars will be closed in less than an hour.
She grabbed me by the arm, pulling me aside for our usual conversation. “There are three of them in the living room. Keep on your toes. It would do you good if you checked for the ’usual.’” She pretended to fix my hair so Jon didn’t grow suspicious.
Jon forcefully grabbed her backside as they took off out the front door, leaving me to fend for myself.
The ‘usual’ was cash or anything that could provide us with cash and, of course, cigarettes.
I headed down the hallway with my suitcase, looking back to make sure no one was watching me. I set my suitcase at the first door, slipping inside. The room was so cluttered I could barely get in. I took a quick glance around, looking for the typical hiding spots. I pulled a shoebox off the top shelf of the closet, but there was nothing in it but rolled-up porn and a box of condoms. I put it back and got on my tiptoes, retrieving a photo album. The first page displayed a couple photos of a little boy with blond hair and blue eyes. He smiled so naturally at the camera. From the looks of the picture, it was a birthday party. I shrugged away the jealousy and moved on to the back of the album, finding three, one-hundred dollar bills. In a flash, I folded them in half and put them in my pocket.
“Hey, what are you doing?” someone asked from the doorway.
I slunk back against the wall and dropped the album on a pile of clothes, kicking some dirty laundry on top of it.
“I thought this was where he said to sleep.”
The guy came closer. He looked me over suspiciously. “No, I don’t think so. This is my room. Jon’s is down the hall,” he said.
His body was rigid and he didn’t take his eyes off me for a second.
“Okay, sorry,” I muttered, starting for the door.
“What are you two doing here anyway? How do you know Jon?” he asked. He didn’t look any older than me.
“I don’t know Jon. My aunt does,” I said, trying for the door again. He blocked me with his hand, closing the door.
“You guys need money, don’t you?” He moved in, pinning me against the wall.
“Look, I’m just along for the ride. I don’t know what she’s doing.” I stared into his eyes. I wasn’t about to show him he was scaring me.
“How old are you?”
“I’ll be twenty in a week,” I said, finding the doorknob and his fingers wrapped around it.
“Do you know Jon sells drugs?” He stayed close, not letting up.
“I told you, I don’t know much about him or why we’re here. We’ve been driving for a while, just needed a break,” I said, trying to play it cool.
“So, are you a nice girl or are you more like that older broad?” He pressed his lips against mine, pinning my head against the door. The smell of beer filled my nose.
He slid his hand down the front of my shorts, not letting the zipper stop him. I prayed he kept his hands away from my back pocket.
I shut my eyes in an effort to escape from the moment as the groping continued. My mind was as blank as the night sky as his hands found my chest. He cupped my breast, kissing down my neck. I prayed for my guardian angel to swoop through the window and pound his face in.
Someone pounded on the door. My heart pleaded for it to end, but he ignored it, pulling my shirt over my head.
“I think you’re a bad girl like that aunt of yours.” He pulled me close. I tried pulling away.
“Stop, I don’t even know you.” I pressed my hand into his chest. It never surprised me what alcohol could make a man do.
“I’m Ben, by the way,” he said, as if my knowing his name made it okay somehow. He tugged at my shorts. The thought of what was about to happen put me in full panic mode. I shoved him as hard as I could, sending him flying over his bed.
He groaned, scrambling to his feet. I got out of the door and ran down the hallway, grabbing my suitcase.
“Whoa! What’s going on here?” someone said from the hallway. He caught the tail end of me as I slammed the bathroom door shut.
I clutched my chest, trying to calm my racing heart. It felt like a wild bullfrog jumping all over the place. I turned on the water, attempting to drown out the commotion in the hallway.
I wasn’t leaving the bathroom until Aunt Wanda came back—if she did. There were times she didn’t roll back around until morning.
Times like these I wished for more. I just wanted someone to care enough about me, so these things didn’t happen. But no matter how much I wished for that, it didn’t matter. Some people weren’t meant to have a good life. You’d be surprised what you accepted as the norm in desperate times.
After the hot shower, I sat on the bathroom floor dripping wet. I forgot to grab the towel in the closet during my escape from Ben.
To pass the time, I stacked stray beer caps one after another waiting to hear Wanda’s voice so I could come out. There was no way I was prepared to fight off three men. I didn’t care how tough I was, some things just weren’t possible.
I finally heard her voice in the hallway. I stood up, staring at my naked frame in the foggy mirror. I wondered what she thought was so beautiful about me, why she always compared me to a piece of art. I barely had boobs, not that I minded. Aunt Wanda always complained how her large chest gave her backaches.
My hair was a drab brown and way too long.
They say your eyes are the window to your soul. If that’s true, mine showed just how dull and lifeless my soul was.
I was skinny—almost too skinny. Most days it seemed like my body had a mind of its own. I was awkward and fidgety. But Wanda said that was another quality that made me such a catch. She said men liked girls who weren’t comfortable in their own skin.
And I envied anyone with a tan, because I had the complexion of a recluse.
I pulled on my jeans and tank top and headed into the hallway, keeping my eyes on the ground, not wanting to look at the idiot. Who was he to think he could take advantage? If I hadn’t been so worried about stirring up trouble, I’d have socked him a good one.
I tossed our suitcase next to Wanda. She was lying on top of Jon on the sofa. She didn’t even notice. I headed out the front door, the night air hitting me in the face as I hurried down the steps into their poorly tended lawn.
I ran a hand through my damp hair, lightly pulling through any remaining tangles. I stared up at the moon glowing overhead, wondering what I should do. I was stuck, once again.
The door opened and slammed shut. My body tensed. I prayed it was Wanda.
“What, you don’t want to finish what was started back there?” Ben asked.
I backed away.
“Just go away,” I said.
He came closer, grabbing my arm. “Where is it?”
I hesitated, surprised he knew I stole his money. I didn’t know what to say. I just wanted everything going on to end.
He was fast as lightning. In seconds, he had a hold on my hair. He pushed me to the ground, knocking the wind out of me. I struggled to get out from under him as he searched for his money.
Finally, I got one hand free. I hit him in the face and pulled at his hair trying to get away.
“Just give me the money and I’ll let you go.” He grabbed me by the shirt.
“Get off me!”
I flinched when he hit me in the face. He tried to cover my mouth and I bit down on his hand.
“Ben, go back in the house,” someone said from the darkness. The moonlight revealed him when he approached. Ben looked at me one last time before he gave up and went back inside.
I swore he was an angel. His shaggy blond hair shimmered in the moonlight. Sitting on my knees, I stared up at him, touching my face for signs of blood before accepting his help off the ground.
“I don’t know what happened, but I’m sorry,” he said brushing grass from my clothes.
“It’s fine. I’m sorry,” I stammered, searching for somewhere to go. He watched, crossing his arms as I headed toward our car.
“Where you two heading? Is that woman you’re with a drug addict?”
I leaned against our car. “She uses drugs on occasion, but it’s not a problem,” I said, like I always did.
He nodded.
“Thanks very much. You didn’t have to help.” I knew he thought I was a thief.
“What. Are you kidding? You were never going to get away from Ben. He was a wrestler in high school,” he said, a small smile on his face. I studied his expression trying to figure out the meaning behind it.
“Well, thanks.” I looked away.
“I don’t care if you took his money. Are you in trouble? I mean, what’s the deal with the two of you? Are you gypsies or something?” he asked, genuinely interested.
I ran a hand through my hair.
“She likes to travel. We’re headed for California.” I always wondered how long before that actually happened. It had been the goal for years. But something always came along to foil our plans.
“Do you like to travel?” he asked.
“I’m used to it. It’s what we do.” I shrugged, staring at my dirty feet, wishing the night would come to a quick end so we could be on our way.
“You seem sad.”
I always looked sad—it was the norm for me anymore.
“No, just tired. I was really hoping to get some sleep, but I guess that’s not going to happen.”
“I live next door, come on,” he said, heading across the grass. I followed reluctantly. What to do? It was a toss-up really. What would be worse, being next door to a drunk drug dealer or with a stranger that could be just as crazy?
“You can sleep on the couch. I’ll get you a pillow and some blankets.” He headed out of the living room. It was a lot neater in his home compared to what I’d just left behind.
I followed him down the hallway, coming to a stop behind him as he pulled a blanket from his closet.
“Whoa! You scared me. Are you ok?” He raised an eyebrow, running a hand down the back of his neck.
“I don’t care if you’re expecting a favor,” I told him, waiting for him to touch me.
“What? Oh no. Honestly, I just want you to be able to sleep. I’m not like that. I have a girlfriend.” He hurried past me.
I let out a huge sigh of relief. At least now I knew he wasn’t going to try anything.
I climbed onto his couch, my body thankful for the comfort, and the paranoia and fear melted away. I pulled the blanket up to my chin and drew my knees to my stomach.
“Goodnight,” he said, turning off the lamp.
The room fell silent. I fell asleep, hoping tomorrow would be better.
