CHAPTER 16 #2
Victor ignored him. The driveway wrapped around a copse of trees and opened up in a small clearing with a mobile home trailer perched in the middle.
Did Johnny think Victor cared that he lived in a trailer?
Tons of people in this state did. He knew Johnny had spent most of his earnings on rehab after his injury and that his feedlot job wasn’t making him bank, so what if he had to live in a trailer? It was a house, wasn’t it?
Victor parked the truck, keeping the lights on because there was no other light to see by.
By now Johnny had gotten the door open, but all he could manage was a clumsy tumble to the ground beneath.
He couldn’t get to his feet, so Victor grabbed hold of his jacket and pulled him up enough that Johnny’s boots could find purchase on the gravel.
He muttered a string of protests as Victor led him to the front porch, but Victor didn’t understand any of them.
The stairs creaked under their weight, and Victor realized they were leaning at an angle.
The man needed to invest in some home improvement.
“I need your key,” Victor said as they stood in front of the metal front door.
“I’ll do it,” Johnny insisted.
“It’s fucking cold and raining. Give me the damn key.”
Johnny thrust a hand into the pocket of his coat and dropped the keys in the process.
Victor snatched them up and tried a few until he found the right one.
The door swung open, and Victor fumbled inside for the light switch.
Once he found it, light filled the narrow hallway that served as the home’s foyer, illuminating the 70’s era wood paneling and a floor almost entirely covered in what could have been years’ worth of trash.
Victor nearly dropped the keys in shock, which was a good thing, because he might have lost them in the piles of beer cans, fast food wrappers, plastic bags, and unknown articles of clothing that so blocked the hallway that the narrow trail through it all offered the only glimpse of the original brown carpet color.
Victor decided to gape at it later. Johnny was still in a heap on the porch in the rain.
Taking a fistful of his jacket, Victor led him through the door and into the hallway, where he knocked over a pile of detritus that clattered into the only available walking space.
Now that Victor was inside and the door was shut behind him, the smell of trash and unwashed carpet was definitely stronger.
Instead of commenting, Victor helped Johnny down the hallway toward the kitchen and living room, which looked no better than the hallway.
The sink was barely accessible, and the stove not at all.
At least half of the mess was beer and alcohol containers, all piled precariously on top of each other so that one touch would send it toppling.
There was a bucket placed at the center of the kitchen floor, and right now it was overflowing with water.
It seemed the roof was leaking, and someone had taped up a tarp to catch the worst of it.
The trailer was in really rough shape, and in the dark and rain, Victor hadn’t noticed it in the glow of his headlights.
It wasn’t as bad as what you’d see profiled on a season of Hoarders, but it definitely wasn’t a place anyone should have to live in.
“Johnny…” Victor began, otherwise speechless.
“You don’t gotta say nothin’,” Johnny muttered, red in the face and looking like he might pass out. “I know how it looks.”
“You’ve been living like this?” Victor asked.
“Obviously.”
“Your roof is leaking.”
“Yeah.” Johnny looked like a whipped dog at the moment, avoiding Victor’s eyes at all costs.
Victor looked around the living room. The couch was accessible, but behind it were a slew of beer bottles and cans, all tossed aside after consumption.
Whatever coffee table existed was buried beneath towers of paper and old fast food containers.
Thankfully Victor couldn’t see much rotted food, though there were more flies buzzing around the ceiling light than Victor had ever seen in a house.
Victor decided to look at the bedroom before depositing Johnny in it.
This room looked the most lived in, as the bed was clear and the television was visible, but the closet was half empty because most of the clothing had been tossed wherever.
There were tons of empty alcohol cans and bottles in here, too, and the trash can by the end table may have been filled to bursting more than a year ago, judging by how much it had overflowed.
Victor sucked in a few stale breaths, trying to control the flood of emotions that were now choking him.
Maybe his instinct should have been disgust, but that was leagues behind the sucking sadness in his gut.
No one should have to live like this. He wouldn’t let an animal live like this.
How long had it been like this? How long had Johnny been hiding it?
. Learning that he’d come home to this filth to drink himself into a stupor made Victor sick to the stomach.
Had anyone tried to help? Did anyone know?