3. Carlee
Chapter 3
Carlee
(10 years old)
Rolling over in bed and clutching my middle, I groan into my pillow. The constant spasms that accompany an empty stomach are unfortunately my norm, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. My head throbs to the point I’m struggling to sleep. It’s not the first time I’ve felt like this, you think I’d be used to it by now, but I’m not.
I’m four days into spring break, and my mother, Roxy, has been MIA for two of them. The first few days she was holed up in her room, sleeping off a three-day bender. When she finally rose from the dead, she showered, slathered on a full face of makeup, clad herself in one of her sexiest dresses, and headed out to do it all over again.
Most kids look forward to school breaks, but not me. At least I’m guaranteed a meal at the cafeteria.
Tossing back the threadbare blanket that covers me, I rise from the paper-thin mattress that lies on the floor of the small two-bedroom trailer I share with my mom. Unlike her, I don’t have a bed frame. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been stuck in the far back corner of this shitty trailer. Out of sight, out of mind, I guess.
I make my way into the tiny combined kitchen/ living/dining space, opening the pantry. It’s not the first time I’ve done this over the past few days. I sigh… it’s still empty. I knew it would be, but it didn’t stop me from hoping food would somehow magically appear.
A girl can dream.
Glancing up at the clock on the wall I see it’s just after 1:00 am. It’s not the first time my mom hasn’t come home when expected. She said she’d bring back food, but her empty promises don’t mean much to me anymore. She breaks them often.
Grabbing the lone cup that sits beside the sink, I turn on the cold-water faucet, ignoring the loud protest of the creaky old pipes as I pour myself a tall glass of water, chugging it down. Unfortunately, it doesn’t fill the empty void in my stomach, but it’s something at least.
Pacing back and forth like a caged lion, I eventually head to my room and tug open the bottom drawer of my dresser. If she won’t come home, then I’m going out to look for her. What choice do I have?
I pull out a pair of my mom’s old sweats. They’re a little big, but at least they fit. It’s been a long time since I’ve gotten any clothes from Goodwill. I’ve outgrown most of what I own, and even though these pants are faded and worn, I’m grateful to have something that doesn’t feel like it’s cutting off my circulation, or about to bust at the seams. I’m sick of getting teased by the kids at school for the way I dress, I can’t help it that I’m poor.
Slipping my legs into the pants, I roll the waist a few times to keep them from falling down. The T-shirt I’m wearing is also one of my mom’s old ones; it sits just above my knees because I’ve yet to have a growth spurt. I’ve always been tiny for my age. I’m not sure if it’s from lack of nutrition or just my genetic makeup.
The streets are eerily quiet, well except for the noise the sole of my right shoe makes whenever I take a step forward . The slap, slap, slapping sound of the loose rubber connecting with the concrete, echoes in the silence.
It’s over a mile from the trailer park to the strip club, where my mom works for extra cash to supplement her welfare payments. I’ve done this walk a heap of times, but today seems more difficult. The lack of food has made me weak.
For normal folks, I’m sure the thought of a ten-year-old girl wandering the streets alone in the middle of the night would be shocking… unheard of , but for kids like me, it’s nothing out of the ordinary. I’ve been looking after myself for as long as I can remember.
I come from a single-parent home—well if you can call it a home—my mom’s mostly absent, and even if she’s present, she’s not. She’s either drunk, high as a kite, or screwing some random dude. Whoever they are, none of them stick around long. They’re originally taken in by her beauty, but it doesn’t take long for her ugliness on the inside to shine through.
It’s still dark out when I arrive at Juicy Lucy’s, that’s the name of this wonderful place. It just screams class, right? In hindsight, I guess it’s fitting my mother would frequent this dump. She may scrub up alright in the looks department, with a seemingly endless supply of men, but classy is not a word most would use to describe her— crazy-ass bitch, a drunk, junkie, or whore are just a few of the names she’s been called over the years.
The men she meets here are the wrong kind. She’s never going to get her shit together hanging out with this crowd.
I dart between the vehicles in the parking lot as I sneak toward the front of the building. I shouldn’t be here; the last time I came, Roxy beat me so bad I couldn’t get out of bed for two days. She’s warned me not to show my face around here again, but I guess I’m a glutton for punishment, I have nothing to lose.
If she doesn’t kill me, starvation certainly will.
The strip club lies at the end of the main street in the seedy part of town. The once bustling strip mall is now littered with long-forgotten businesses and boarded-up storefronts. Only a pawn shop and a dingy old laundromat remain. It’s where the thieves, drug dealers, and prostitutes now reside. These streets are haunted by the undesirables. It’s a scary place for some, but I’ve lived much worse.
I resist the urge to rub my hands along my arms to warm my frosty skin as I come to a stop beside an old red pickup truck. It’s early April, but evenings still get chilly. I’m not opposed to the cold. California is one of the warmer states in the US, but our winters can be brutal, especially in our shitty run-down trailer, with a leaky roof, no heating, and not a warm blanket in sight. The weather has nothing on hunger though. I’d gladly walk through a snowstorm, or a desert for that matter, as long as my stomach was full.
Crouching down, I push the loose strands of my long, blonde hair back inside the baseball cap I’m wearing. I’ve tucked it up so I look like a boy. I’ve learned from previous experience, that I’m less likely to gain attention if I do. A young girl in this area is easy prey.
The hat is the only thing I have left of my dad. I don’t remember much about him, but I do recall he was always wearing this. Roxy threw all his belongings onto the dirt outside our trailer within hours of him being hauled away by the cops, leaving a free-for-all for the scavengers nearby. I was quick to pluck it off the top of his discarded clothes, hiding it in my room. One day when he gets out of prison and returns for me, I know he’ll be happy I saved this for him.
My head moves from left to right as I take in my surroundings. The strip club is a large, box-shaped, brick building that was painted jet black somewhere during its history. The color makes it almost disappear under the dark backdrop of the night sky, only illuminated by the hot-pink neon sign that flashes across the front facade.
There’s no sign of my mother anywhere. I don’t even know if she’s inside, but I know better than to march up to the door and ask for her. When her boss first found out she had a kid, thanks to me showing up here, he gave her earlier stage times so she could be home at a decent hour to care for me. What a joke . All it got me was an ass-whooping.
My eyes are locked on the bouncer that mans the front door. He’s a different guy from the last one. He’s younger and not bad-looking, I wonder if Roxy has gotten her claws into him yet. She has a few good years on him, but I doubt that would be a deterrent.
He glances around briefly before dipping his head to continue scrolling through the phone that’s clutched in his hand. I use the distraction to move closer. Staying hunched over, I dart toward the side of the building. Thankfully the drowned-out music coming from inside lessons the annoying sound of my busted shoe as I bolt toward the alleyway. I need to get my hands on some tape because getting a new pair of shoes is highly unlikely.
I’m almost at my destination when I hear someone call out, “Hey!” Shit . I wasn’t quick enough, so I pick up the pace. “Hey, you, get back here.”
The alleyway smells like a combination of rotten food and stale urine, but I eye the graffiti-covered dumpster further down. If I can just make it there, I can hide inside. My fingers latch onto the folded waistband of my sweats when I feel them slip over my narrow hips, furiously pumping my free arm to help me along.
I’m almost there.
The stench of the dumpster is bad, but it still makes my empty stomach growl. Maybe there’s some discarded food inside? If I’m lucky enough, I may even get a feed while I hide out until the coast is clear. A hungry child is not a fussy one, and it wouldn’t be the first time I ate something questionable. Starvation will do that to you, it takes away your pride and dignity. A person’s will to survive can make you do unspeakable things.
The footsteps behind me are getting nearer and when I quickly glance over my shoulder, I see the dark outline of a huge giant approaching. I will my legs to move faster. It’s not the first time I’ve had to flee for my life, but where I’m heading is dark and deserted. Nobody knows that I’m down here. If this guy catches me, there’s no telling what he will do.
“Stop!” the voice calls out again, but I don’t even consider it. I may not be the brightest kid, but I’m street-smart.
As I bypass the dumpster, the unthinkable happens. The loose sole of my shoe folds under, making me lose my balance and I stumble forward. I’m running so fast that there’s no way I can right myself as I go tumbling down to the rough concrete below.
I whimper as I roll to my side, clutching my injured left knee. That, and the palms of my hands took the brunt of the fall. The rough surface being unrelenting on my skin. I can feel the damp fabric of my sweats and I know that I’m bleeding.
I bite my bottom lip to tamper down the cry of pain that threatens to escape. I’ve experienced a lot worse in my short life, and as Roxy often tells me, nobody likes a crybaby . Peeping over my shoulder, I see the guy nearby and my wounds are soon forgotten as my fight-or-flight mode kicks back in. My life may be a constant nightmare, but the thought of being chopped up into itty-bitty pieces by some random psychopath is far worse.
I don’t stand a chance against this angry man giant, so I push myself off the ground, disregarding the burning, throbbing pain in my hands as I start to hobble away. My broken shoe gets left behind, and the small, loose rocks below dig into the base of my barefoot, but I ignore the discomfort.
I have a bigger problem.
It’s no use though; it only takes him a few steps to catch me, his arms snaking around my middle as he effortlessly lifts me off my feet.
“I’ve got you,” he says.
I thrash around in his arms as he turns and starts making his way back down the alley. I may be scrappy, but I’m not going to go down easy.
I don’t know where he’s taking me; does he have a car waiting nearby? Both my arms are pinned to my sides, so I start kicking my legs. My erratically beating heart thumps against my rib cage as my feet lay blow after blow against his thick, muscular thighs that resemble tree trunks, but it doesn’t deter him in the slightest.
“Let me go,” I scream, slamming my head back into his chest.
His body stalls as soon as the words leave my mouth, tensing behind me. “Shit,” he mumbles as he lowers me back to my feet, spinning me around to face him. “You’re a girl?”
Despite the fear that’s coursing through my body, my hands land on my hips as my head tilts back so I can see his face. “No shit.”
His dark brown eyes narrow and his brow pinches together as he stares down at me. It’s only then that I realize my captor is in fact the nice-looking bouncer that was manning the front door of the club when I arrived.
Oh boy, I’m in trouble now .
Reaching for the baseball cap I’m wearing, he yanks it off my head causing my long blonde hair to flop down around my face.
“Give that back,” I screech.
I was only three years old when my dad went to prison so that hat is my greatest treasure. The bouncer guy holds it high in the air when I lunge for it and I have to resist the urge to kick him in the shins. I roll my bottom lip between my teeth to mask the quiver as I blink my eyes trying to will back my tears. Crying only makes Roxy angrier.
His features instantly soften and relief floods through me when he hands me the cap.
Stepping back, he runs his fingers through his dark hair as his eyes scan over my face. “You’re just a damn kid.”
“I’m ten and a half,” I snap, standing taller. “Two whole hands and a bit.” After shoving the hat back on my head, I hold my ten fingers out in front of me, wiggling them to prove my point. That’s a lot of fingers, mister .
I notice his lip twitch slightly as he glances down at the watch on his wrist. “It’s after two in the morning, where the hell are your parents?”
Using my thumb, I point over my shoulder toward the entry to the club.
“Your parents are inside?”
“My mom is, I think. She works here.”
“Your mom works here?”
“Yeh, Roxanne.”
“Roxy’s your mom? I didn’t know she had a kid.”
That doesn’t surprise me. It’s not something she flaunts, hence why she makes me call her Roxy. I’m her biggest mistake, a thorn in her side… well that’s what she often tells me.
“Is your old man in there too?”
“Who?”
“Your dad?” He points to the cap.
“No, he’s in prison.”
He winces when I say that. “Who looks after you when your mom is at work?” His gaze moves around the parking lot as he speaks.
“Nobody.”
His eyes snap back to me as the furrow in his brow deepens. He shakes his head before speaking again. “Give me a minute.” He mumbles something under his breath as he takes a few steps away, pulling his phone out of his suit jacket. After pushing a few buttons, he holds it to his ear. “It’s me, Reece, is Roxy still inside?” He lets out a long breath as his eyes dart in my direction. “Damn,” he says after a brief pause. “Her kids here; do you think you can bring her out? ”
My mom’s gonna be pissed if she’s brought out here because of me, maybe I should just leave.
After ending his call, he slides his phone back into his pocket. “Frank’s going to bring her out.” He clears his throat, scratching the back of his head. “She’s pretty wasted.”
“Figures,” I say with a shrug.
“Does she do this often?”
I don’t want to get her in any trouble, although, she’s worked here long enough. I’m guessing they know what she’s like by now. Shrugging my shoulders again, I stare down at my shoes, or should I say shoe. My eyes dart toward the alleyway. The one I lost when I ran may be busted, but they’re the only ones I own.
“Can I go get my other sneaker?” I ask. It’s a long walk home and I don’t fancy doing it in one shoe.
His gaze darts down to my feet before replying. “I’ll get it. Wait here.”
I probably should use this time to make a break for it, but the damage is already done. My throat tightens at the thought. I shouldn’t have come here.
I watch as Reece jogs down the alleyway to retrieve it. “Looks like it’s busted,” he says, flipping back the loose sole before passing it to me. “You’re going to need a new pair.” Ignoring him, I slip it back on my foot. I’m embarrassed to tell him it was already like that.
Minutes pass as we stand there in awkward silence, waiting for my mom to make her appearance.
Both our heads swing toward the front door of the club when it bursts open. “Ah, come on, Frank, don’t be so mean,” Roxy slurs as he escorts her outside. She’s so drunk, she’d probably fall flat on her face if he wasn’t holding her up. “Just one more drink? ”
“I’m sorry, Roxy, we’re cutting you off, you’ve had enough. It’s time to go home, sweetheart.”
I’m surprised by how gentle his voice is given the situation, but he probably deals with people like her all the time.
I grimace when my mom’s arms slink around his thick waist, her bright red lips puckering as she tilts her head back and bats her long eyelashes at him. She has no shame. Sober, she may be able to pull off that seductive look, but not when she’s hammered. I feel my face heat, and I’m not sure if I’m humiliated for her or myself.
Frank shakes his head as he untangles her from his body. His actions have her pouty lips instantly thinning into a fine line as her red eyes glaze over and the anger sets in. Shit . I know what’s coming; I’ve seen that look enough. She’s like a ticking time bomb when she’s been drinking and she’s about to blow.
She stumbles slightly before Frank reaches out to clasp her elbow, stopping her drunk ass from falling over.
“Get your fucking hands off me,” she screams, thrashing her arms around, trying to get out of his hold.
Here we go .
“Hey,” Reece says, stepping forward. “Watch your language in front of the kid.”
I barely know him, but I inch in his direction because he makes me feel safe. I’m usually on the receiving end of my mother’s cruelty, so I know the moment she notices I’m here, her rage will be redirected toward me. If someone, or even something upsets her, I’m the person she lashes out at. It’s always my fault.
“You ruin everything.”
“I should’ve got rid of you when I had the chance.”
“You’re my biggest regret.”
“I hate you. ”
I’ve heard it all before, but the last one hurts the most.
I try to act like her words don’t cut me to the bone, but they do. I didn’t ask to be born into this shithole of a life. I try to be good and stay out of her way. I do everything she asks of me, but it’s never enough.
“Who the fuck…” she shrieks, snapping her head in our direction, but her words die out the moment her eyes narrow on me. “You!”
Instinctively, I take another step backward. Frank still has a tight grip on her arm, but it doesn’t stop her from trying to lunge for me.
“I don’t think so,” Reece says, maneuvering me behind him and stepping into Roxy’s path to block her attack.
“Get out of my way,” she yells.
“Calm down.” Reece holds his hands up in front of him as he speaks. “She’s just a kid.”
“She’s a little cunt. I warned you to stay away from here, Carlee. I’m gonna beat your sorry ass when I get my hands on you.”
I can no longer see her because I’m shielded behind Reece’s tank of a body, but even that doesn’t stop the fear from surging through me. She terrifies me when she’s like this.
“Well, you’ll have to get through me first,” Reece retorts, making my mouth gape open. Nobody has ever stood up for me before. Nobody.
“Are you okay, kid?” Reece asks as we travel down the main street in the direction of the trailer park.
It took close to half an hour for Reece to get my irate mother in the back of his vehicle, all the while shielding me from her outbursts. Thankfully, within minutes of being sprawled out in the back seat, she passed out cold. The patience he’d shown her despite the awful things that spewed from her mouth surprised me. At one point, she even spat in his face, it was awful. He kept his cool though. Numerous times Frank suggested calling the cops or throwing her in a cab, and he probably meant literally after the way she acted, but Reece refused, saying there was no way he was letting me go home with her on my own. Even our neighbors at the trailer park turn a blind eye when Roxy is on one of her tirades.
“I’m okay,” I whisper as my gaze moves toward the passenger side window. I’m ashamed of the way my mom acted just now. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve seen her like that, or worse, but I feel horrible for the way she treated Reece. I’ve known him for less than an hour, yet I can already tell he’s a good guy. He didn’t deserve any of this. It was all my fault. I should’ve just stayed home.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” I reply, turning my head in his direction.
“What are those marks on your arms? They look like small burns.”
Again, I just shrug, not wanting to elaborate any further. I’m like an abused puppy, loyal despite the neglect.
He’s right though, they are burns. Sometimes when my mom is drunk, she puts her cigarettes out on me. The ones I have now are fresh, but I still carry scars from the others. The kids at school say I have scabies. It’s just another thing they pick on me for.
Although this life is all I’ve known, I’m also aware of the consequences that come with speaking out. I’ve witnessed a few kids in the trailer park being removed from their families. The last thing I want is to be taken away from my mother. She needs me, and in a way, I need her too. We’re all each other have. I’ve heard stories about what happens to kids in the system. I don’t want to be another statistic. My circumstances may not be ideal, but it’s better the devil you know. She’s a different person when she’s sober, so I can’t hold it against her.
I turn my head away from him when he raises an eyebrow, but thankfully he doesn’t push it any further.
“Is your mom violent with you often?”
“What? No, why would you ask that?” I lie.
“I saw how she acted toward you tonight.”
“She was just upset that I came here is all. She’s warned me not to.”
“Then why did you come?”
I blow out a puff of air. “I was hungry. She said she was going to bring home food.”
“I see. When was the last time you ate?”
I dip my head. “A few days ago.”
“A few days?”
He doesn’t say anything further, but he puts on his indicator when we reach the next intersection before turning left.
“You don’t turn here,” I say, wondering if he mistook my earlier directions.
“I know. I’m taking you to get something to eat. There should be some fast-food restaurants still open.”
“You don’t have?—”
“It’s not up for negotiation, Carlee,” he says, his words cutting me off. “A few damn days,” he mumbles under his breath, shaking his head in disgust. I wonder what he’d think if he knew it was actually four?
“Let me help,” I offer, coming to stand beside Reece. It’s the least I can do after everything he’s done for me tonight. I may be tiny, but I’ve had to drag her unconscious ass into the trailer on more than one occasion. Although, with my small frame it took a lot of persistence and determination to make it happen. In the end, I’m pretty sure it was the frustration and rage I felt toward her in that moment that got me over the line.
“I’ve got her,” Reece replies, huffing out a breath as he reaches into the back seat of his car and scoops a comatose Roxy into his arms. Her head falls back the moment he lifts her, and she mumbles something unintelligible, but thankfully doesn’t wake. Despite her obvious deadweight, he doesn’t even flinch. “Hold open the door to the trailer for me.”
Dashing up the front step of the small porch, I use my backside as a prop to hold open the rickety screen, while I turn the knob on the front door, kicking it open with my foot. I didn’t lock the door before I left because I didn’t have a key. It’s not like we’ve got anything worth stealing anyway.
He enters the trailer, and I point toward my mom’s bedroom. “Just put her in here,” I say.
Following me into her room, I see him wince the moment he enters, I know it’s because of the smell. I’m used to it now, but sometimes it still turns my stomach.
After Reece carefully lays her down, I scoot around to the side of the bed, removing her shoes and setting them over by the wall. After rolling my mom onto her side in case she gets sick, I use a pillow to keep her propped up and pull the blanket over her, making sure she’s covered before turning back around to face Reece. I usually hate having strangers here, but I get a feeling I can trust this man.
I watch as his eyes dart around the room taking everything in. This place is a shit hole, and it doesn’t smell much better. I tidied up in here after my mom left earlier, and made her bed, but I’m pretty sure the stench of stale cigarettes, vomit, and probably piss, is embedded into not only the walls, but the filthy worn carpet.
“Is it just the two of you that live here?” he asks without showing any judgment. I like that about him. He doesn’t make me feel like I’m less than.
“Yeh.”
“Are your grandparents in your life?”
I shake my head. “I’ve never met them.”
“When does your dad get out?”
Soon, I hope .
A few years ago, I found a letter he’d sent Roxy from prison. It wasn’t long, it basically asked why she still hadn’t been to visit, I’m not sure if there’d been others sent prior, but there was a sentence at the end of this one that still makes the hairs on my arm stand on end when I think about it, “ You better be looking after my little girl ,” he’d written. Seeing those words made tears sting the back of my eyes as I clutched the piece of paper to my chest. Someone cared .
“I’m not sure. I’ve written him a few letters, but Roxy wouldn’t send them for me.”
“Did she say why?”
I shrug. “Just that it costs money.”
“Hmm. Do you still have the letters? I’d be happy to send them for you.”
“Really?”
“Sure, kid.”
“Ah, okay. Let me just grab them.”
I race into my room, stopping by my bed and falling to my knees. I slide my hand under the mattress, feeling for the envelopes I’ve hidden there. My heart is beating out of my chest at the thought of finally getting in contact with my dad. I’ve secretly hoped that one day he’d come back here and save me.
I try not to wish for things. You just set yourself up for heartache if you do, but I know that thought will help keep me going. Without hope, what do we have?
My stomach growls as I head back into the main room, where Reece now stands by the door and waits. He stopped and got me something to eat before coming here and I devoured every morsel. Even going as far as licking the sauce off the inside of the burger wrapper. I wasn’t even discreet about it. Who knows when my next meal will be? He kept telling me to slow down as I ate, saying I’d make myself sick if I didn’t. But even if I wasn’t on the brink of starvation, I wouldn’t have been able to. Has he ever eaten a burger before? Doesn’t he realize how delicious they are?
Roxy doesn’t cook, opening a tin can and heating the contents is about her limit. He did ask me if I wanted another when I was done. I could have eaten a dozen more, but I didn’t want to take advantage of his kindness. He’d already done so much for me. Hopefully, tomorrow, when Roxy finally surfaces, she’ll go to the store.
I hand the letters to Reece and see him look over the envelope on top. “I’ll get these posted for you tomorrow.”
Smiling, I nod my head.
He flicks his chin in the direction of Roxy’s room. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay here on your own?”
“Yes.” Tonight, I’m feeling grateful. I got a happy ending, and they don’t come around often.
“Okay, if you’re sure,” he says. “Take care of yourself, kid.”
Sadness washes over me as I stand at the front door and watch him walk back to his car. His posture is hunched as he pauses briefly. When he glances over his shoulder, he looks conflicted, but the reality is, he’s probably glad to see the back of us. We’re more trouble than we are worth; I’d run and never look back if I were him.
Once he drives away, I close the front door and lock it. After checking on Roxy again, I head to my bedroom.
That night I hardly slept. It was crazy because I barely knew Reece, but the thought of never seeing him again felt like I’d suffered a great loss. I’ve been neglected and let down my entire life; I’ve never had anyone I could truly count on. But having someone as magnificent as him around would be too wonderful for words.
When I woke the next morning something magical happened. To my surprise, three things were sitting on the porch by the front door: a bag full of groceries, a box of freshly baked donuts, and the last thing had a smile bursting onto my face because it was a brand-new pair of shoes.
A warmth spread through my entire body, a kind of happiness like I’d never known. It was such an unfamiliar feeling for me, but I liked it. I liked it very much.