Chapter 13
“Austin, baby! Grab your sister and get to your room.” There’s panic in Mom’s voice, but it’s like I can’t get to her, like I’m moving under water. I’m running into every room of the house looking for her, but she's not there.
“Mama!” I yell, but there’s no response. A loud crash sounds like someone has thrown glass onto the floor, but I’m disoriented. I can't figure out which direction the sound came from. Something tugs on my shirt sleeve and I look down to see my baby sister looking up at me. Fat tears are running down her face and I know I have to choose her. I grab her little hand and take off toward my bedroom, slamming the door behind us.
“Cassie, I need you to be a big girl for me, okay? Can you do that? I need you to take this and get in the closet.” I hand her my baseball bat, and give her a small push toward my closet. Her muffled cries ring in my ears as I push my dresser in front of my door.
“Austin, wake up. You’re having a nightmare.” The words are distant as someone shakes me, but I can’t seem to claw my way to the surface. The shaking gets harder and I gradually come to. Penny and I must have fallen asleep on her couch, because she’s now leaning over me bringing me back to consciousness, her brows pinched in concern.
Suddenly, I’m sitting upright, my chest heaving like I’ve run ten miles, sweat dripping down my forehead. It takes a few seconds for me to get my bearings and catch up to my surroundings. It was a dream. It wasn’t real. I’m in Penny’s living room and not in any danger.
Bile rises in my throat and I push past toward her bathroom, throwing open the lid to heave into the toilet. Once my stomach is totally empty, I flush it, pushing back on my heels to sit against the cold surface of her tub. It’s been a while since I’ve had a nightmare like that and I’m rattled to my core. My shirt clings to me, drenched in sweat. It felt real, like I was right back in my childhood bedroom.
Wordlessly, Penny comes into the bathroom and grabs a washcloth from her linen closet. She gets it damp, rings it out, and kneels beside me. At first I think she’s going to hand it to me to wipe my mouth, but then she reaches out and starts wiping my face. Her strokes are gentle as she carefully wipes the sweat from my brow and around my temple. Massive pressure builds behind my eyes, because I’m not sure anyone other than my aunt has ever taken care of me like this.
Penny rises, wets the cloth again and squats beside me. When she tugs the hem of my shirt, I sit up further to help her pull it over my head. With all the care in the world, she wipes down the column of my throat and across my chest, her eyes catching on my tattoo. When I turned eighteen I got the words Be Gentle written across my heart. I wrote it in my own handwriting and took it for the tattoo artist to copy. With a single finger she traces it, her gaze flicking up to mine.
“There’s things you aren’t telling me, aren’t there?” she whispers, her eyes unwavering.
Reaching out, I circle her wrist, bringing her hand to my cheek. I close my eyes, the only sound our breathing until she moves.
Quietly she straddles my lap, leaning in to rest her cheek against mine. Her hand goes to my hair, lightly scratching at my scalp. The sensation calms my frayed nerves and my heartbeat starts to slow. I tip my head back to look at her. Concern is swimming in her eyes. But the one thing I expect is missing. There’s not a trace of pity. Only concern and a question I’m not ready to answer.
I inhale deeply and let it out. “I’m sorry. I’m just not ready to talk about it. I know I probably should. But I can’t.”
If ever a person could crack me wide open to expose all my broken pieces, it's this woman. Part of me wants to tell Penny everything, to lay myself bare for her to see.
“Can I stay with you tonight? I don’t like the idea of you being alone after that,” she says.
I don’t answer right away. The silence stretches out, each second heavy. Finally, I nod, my voice barely above a whisper. "Yeah. I need that."
We rise and she grabs her toothbrush on the way out of the bathroom with me following behind her.
"Can I bring Honey?" Penny’s question breaks the silence, and I look to see her scooping the cat into her arms, scratching beneath its chin with a tenderness that makes my chest tighten. "She’s not used to sleeping without me. I don’t know how you feel about sleeping with a cat, though."
“Course you can,” I say with a quick nod. “Let’s go to bed.”
She leads the way up to the apartment, and I shut the door behind us. She sets Honey down, and we silently get ready for bed. My mind is racing, and she must sense that I don’t want to talk. I’m so damn grateful for the space she’s giving me to process what just happened.
We take turns in the bathroom, moving through the motions of a bedtime routine, and make our way to the bed. Honey is already curled up on the end, purring loudly.
I try to straighten the rumpled sheets and blankets and climb in, Penny settling beside me wearing nothing but a t-shirt. When her legs swing onto the bed I catch a glimpse of white cotton panties, and for a fleeting moment it hits me that any other night my cock would already be hard and I’d want to sink myself deep into her. But not tonight. Tonight I’m a goddamn mess.
Today marks the end of our first week recording and somehow I’ve managed to go seven whole days without a single drop of alcohol in my system. Life in this town hasn’t exactly been real life for me, and I guess I’d fooled myself into thinking my cravings had magically disappeared. Poof. Gone. I’ve had stretches of time like this before. Sometimes long stretches when I’m not on the road, sticking to a routine, not dodging calls from my father. But inevitably something will happen and I find myself being dragged right back under.
We lie there quietly until eventually Penny’s breaths even out, but I’m still wide awake. I’ll be shocked if I get a wink of sleep tonight.
Out of nowhere, the images from my dream come rushing back to me and my pulse picks up speed. How could a dream feel that real? It’s like I was thrown back in time and all I wanted to do was take care of my sister and my mom. That’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. I spent my childhood doing everything I could to protect them, but I was never able to protect my mom. And I tried. God, how I tried.
Suddenly, that burning sensation creeps up my chest, and all I can think is how easy it would be to drown it all out with a few shots of whiskey. Maybe even one would be enough. I could stop at one, right? Rising, I shift to sit on the edge of the bed, my breathing labored. I’m vaguely aware of my hands clenching and unclenching the bedsheet.
I know there’s a twenty-four-hour liquor store near the bar. I saw it on my first night here. It would be so easy to slip out to the van and grab the first bottle I find on their shelf. Right as I go to stand, a hand lands on my back.
“Austin?” Penny’s sleepy voice cuts through my jumbled thoughts. “Lie back down. You’re gonna get through this.”
I don’t know if she could hear the thoughts racing through my mind, but her words hit somewhere deep behind my sternum. My breath catches.
“Am I?” My words are gruff. “Because right now it doesn’t feel that way.”
“You’re gonna get through this,” she repeats more firmly. “Lie back down.”
On a long exhale, I turn, pulling my legs back onto the bed, and she scoots right up against my side. I raise my arm for her to rest her head on my chest and she bands an arm around my waist, pinning me to the bed.
We lie like that, our breaths mingling in the dark, until eventually hers even back out. I press my lips to the top of her head, my mind still spinning. She lets out a soft snore that makes me smile.
Mentally, I add Penny to the list of people I want to do better for. I hope a day comes when I’m able to add myself to that list.
* * *
I’m closing in on myself. It’s coming in like the tide and no matter how hard I try I can’t stop it. The nightmare was the catalyst, but now everything is spinning inside my head. And I just want it to stop.
As soon as Penny headed down to her house this morning, I found myself pacing the length of the apartment. This is always how it starts. Something sets me off. My mind starts racing, and before I know it, I’m half a bottle deep. More than half, most of the time. It starts in my chest. A slow burn that spreads until all I can think about is how easy it would be to flip the switch. Turn it off.
Checking to make sure she’s not outside, I grab my hat and head to the van. For a fleeting moment I consider stopping in and having a drink or two at the bar to take the edge off. But I know that won’t do it. I bypass the bar and head to the liquor store at the end of the block.
With the brim of my hat as low as it’ll go, I slide on my aviators and head inside. Ty has always laughed that I’ve considered a hat and sunglasses a disguise. He’s probably right. It’s never stopped the photos. But in Singing River I figure it's good enough.
I grab a couple of bottles of Jack, then head back to the apartment. The weight of the bag in my hand is a two-ton brick. But the weight on my chest? Even heavier.
As soon as I enter, I pop the cork and put the bottle to my lips. I hesitate a beat. Two. Then I close my eyes as the whiskey hits my throat, traveling down until it settles low and warm in my belly.
My phone buzzes with a text.
Ty
Haven’t heard from you much. Just checking in.
Several minutes pass. Another buzz.
Ty
Have fun with your new landlord. Been missing your smart ass.
And there it is. Shame. That fickle friend I haven’t seen in a few days sits right beside me. Every bit of vitriol my father has ever hurled my way comes to the forefront of my mind.
“ You’re looking more and more like your old man. ”
“ Just a drunk with a little bit of talent .”
I put the bottle to my mouth again and take a long pull.
I do it again.
And again.
Until finally—silence.