Jesse

Memory: 2

………

The sound of the door slamming echoes through the darkness of the living room. The kitchen light is on and it shadowed the hunkering figure of Harold.

His back was to me. I could hear his heavy breathing. In and out. In and out.

The sink's faucet is left on…drip…drip…

Drip.

I could hear my own breath. But I am breathing fast, and hard. I feel my legs still running. The sweat drenches my hair, glints against my chest, staining. I hear another echo.

This is louder. A pounding, gut-wrenching, enflamed beating.

My heart.

The wait is stabbing knives. Into every part of me.

"You said you'd be back around ten…What time is it, Jesse?"

He doesn’t turn around to face me. His voice was quiet, too quiet. Almost calm. The calm before the obliterating storm.

"I—uh, I'm sorry, Da—"

"TELL ME WHAT TIME IT IS! NOW!"

My chest convulses. I look, and my brow crinkles. "Three-o'clock…"

"I'm sorry I got lost…in the dark—"

"—DON'T LIE TO ME!" he barks, finally turning to face me. Sinisterly, he lumbers toward me drunkenly, his eyes gleaming spitefully, full of hate—nothing of Dad. This isn’t Dad. This monstrous thing. This is the alcohol fiend and death twisting monster. They’ve consumed him. Together

"I know where you have been! With those good for nothing Grays and their druggie-friends—you've been delivering haven't you! HAVEN'T YOU?"

"Yes," I whimper falling against the side of the walk, crumpling. The tears burn my eyes. I couldn't see. I couldn't see!

"AND YOU DIDN'T TELL ME?? YOU'RE NO BETTER THAN THE REST OF THEM!"

I realize in that moment he is holding a belt of his, and he raises, and swings it with such a fierceness, so violently I don’t even have time to fend for myself. The shiny belt buckle collides hard against my jaw, cracking, and I see the blood squirt from my lips. The blow has stifled me, knocked me breathless, retching on the floor.

"PLEASE! PLEASE DO—"

"You have the money own you—DON'T YOU?"

"Yes!! Just, p-please don't hurt me," I gasp, gobs of blood gushing out of my mouth. I felt the tears streak across my face, scorching. "It's in my pocket…The money…All the money…"

He ravenously searches, and shoved his hand into my pocket scraping the money out, and pocketing it into his own. The room is swirling. I feel like I’m on one of those kiddy carousals. I think I have ridden one before…Harold's white-dirty shoes I am staring at, are swirling too. The last I remembered is a crushing kick to my head. Then darkness, and breathless words:

"You're no good…to me…to anybody…You're nothing…And never will be anything…"

The darkness takes me again. All of me. Every part of who I am.

My eyes fling open.

I am running. My legs scream with pain. I have to get to a safe place. Somewhere safe. Not back there. Not there. Never there.

He is coming for me. Someone help. Help me!

I don’t want to die.

I’m ready. It’s not my fault. It’s not my fault.

I’m trapped in a dark alley…I have seen this place before. But where?

I don’t stop running. With every fling of my legs, lunge of my body, the pain shrieks through my veins, and the darkness outstretches with the shadows. Claiming me.

Someone is laughing in my head. Cackling. A terrible, evil cackling. Dad? Harold?

It’s over. Over. All over.

A cold hand catches my ankle, and I scream as I careen onto the cement rolling over. Panting, I throw myself up but the hand grabs my throat, the fingers slowly enclosing around me.

I am naked.

"Your time's up, Jesse," the voice whispers in my ear. It’s Ty's.

Then, I feel the cold roundness of the barrel of gun being dug into the nape of my neck.

My body shoots up forward into the darkness. My eyes wrenching open, I hear the bang of the gun. I am trembling. Soaked in sweat. My chest heaved.

I’m in my room again. Alive. Not dead. Not dead. I’m not running. But in covers.

I blinked, and folded my arms slowly rocking back and forth, feeling so alone.

It was then I remembered Ty, and his promise of what he was going to do to me if I didn't get the money. Oh God. I didn't want to think about it. How much time did I have left?

A week?

How the fuck am I supposed to get six hundred dollars in a week? How? How!?

Was it even possible?

Oh fuck. Fuck. Fuck. No. Please.

I stopped thinking. Something would work out. Something had to. In the sickening, roiling pit of my stomach, I feared the truth.

Time was running out. And so was I.