6. Stella
SIX
stella
Sitting on the edge of the living room sofa, I glanced over at the clock above the stove - twelve-thirty.
It had already been a while, and I was starting to wonder where Dean was because he should have been home by now. He told me he was heading over to drop off some sound equipment at Waylon’s after work, then he’d be on his way home. That was hours ago.
I had already eaten dinner. His food was still sitting on the counter covered in tinfoil, waiting to be eaten.
Tapping my finger on the face of my phone, I willed it to ring.
He should have been home, watching Charlie, freeing me up to head to work.
I’d picked up a couple of night shifts at the local hotel checking in guests.
Though it wasn’t glamorous, the weight of the unpaid bills settled heavily on my chest, a dull ache mirroring the emptiness in my wallet.
Unlocking my phone, I clicked on Dean’s contact and hit the phone icon to ring out. It rang once, twice, three times before going to voicemail.
“Leave me a message, fucker!” His voicemail screamed .
With a frustrated grunt, I stood up and paced the length of the apartment.
Why didn’t this surprise me? He’d never proven himself reliable.
I just needed him to be a fucking father one or two days a week so I could make sure we had enough money to keep the lights on in this shit hole we called home.
I couldn’t stand around idly waiting for him to get home. If he was going to be late, I was going to at least get some things done around the house to ease up the burden on my days off.
I grabbed a basket of dirty clothes and trudged into our makeshift laundry area in the hallway next to the kitchen.
Although our apartment wasn’t well-equipped, we were fortunate to find a unit with connections and room for a stackable washer and dryer.
It prevented us from constantly walking down to the corner laundromat to use the commercial machines once or twice a week.
I opened the lid of the washer and started throwing in the clothing.
I grabbed a pair of Dean’s jeans and turned the pockets inside out.
A small plastic bag dropped softly onto the floor.
My blood ran cold, the thud of it hitting the floor echoing in my ears like a gunshot, each beat of my heart a frantic drum against my ribs.
I didn’t have a under privileged upbringing, but I wasn’t na?ve about the drug scene.
What had fallen on the floor, I knew, wasn’t rock candy in a baggie.
I did not know what the substance was, what it did, or how it was used, but I knew for certain it was out of place in my home and it sure as shit wasn’t legal.
Reaching down, I pinched the edge of the baggie between my pointer finger and thumb. I regarded the crystals with the care that one might use when disarming a bomb .
About the time I held it up to my face for further inspection, the front door of the apartment slammed open, hitting the wall on its back-swing.
I fumbled the baggie in my haste to hide it and almost as if in slow motion; it hit the ground and broke open, shattering those clear crystals into a mixture of shards and fine dust. Doing my best to sweep it up with my hands into a pile and brush it into the now broken baggie, I cleaned up the majority.
Footsteps thudded behind me. They sounded heavier than I was expecting. Their approach was almost deafening. Fear flooded my veins as I refused to turn around. I closed my eyes and braced myself for what was to come, knowing I wouldn’t see my boyfriend’s face.
“Well, hello there, pretty thing,” came a sickeningly vile voice from behind me. His southern drawl made each word come out with a hiss, reminding me of a snake.
There’s something about facing your biggest fears in life that either shrivels you into nothingness or builds you up to be a badass bitch. I steeled my spine and turned towards the intruder, choosing the bad ass bitch road even if I felt like shriveling into nothing.
I’m sure he could smell my fear. Nasty men like him preyed on the weak. He seemed to slink around me, circling his prey.
He spotted the small baggie I’d unsuccessfully tried to hide by the humming washer, and his eyes instantly found mine, a haze of fury washing over them.
Before I could think, he had me gripped by the throat.
My breath came in strangled pants as I struggled to inhale through the tiny space available in my windpipe.
His grip was punishing, and his eyes were staring straight through me.
My limited knowledge of the drug scene, gleaned from late-night TV dramas, told me he was high; his pupils were dilated, and his speech was slurred, though what substance coursed through his veins was a mystery.
I gripped at his hand around my throat, attempting to pry his fingers from their hold. It was no use. Whatever drugs were flowing through his system gave him an inhuman like strength that I would never overpower.
“You’ve made a mess of my fucking product, little girl,” he spat. “I’d add that to the tally for your man, but that debt’s already been paid.”
His breath reeked of poor dental hygiene and cigarettes.
I studied his face, aiming to remember it if I lived.
He was grimy - grimier than I’d ever seen a man before.
He looked and smelled like he hadn’t showered in weeks.
His jet black hair parted down the middle and fell to his shoulders.
It looked wet, but I realized quickly that it was just dirt and oil.
His eyes were wild - looking in stuttering darts from left to right, attempting to focus on what was in front of him and failing.
Two teardrop tattoos adorned his left cheek; the artist had filled one in, but the other was only a shaky black outline. He had a scar that crested from the top of his right cheekbone to his hairline, bisecting his eyebrow and leaving a jagged slice through the hair.
“Got anything to say, or does the cat got your tongue?” Leaning down, he ran the tip of his nose down from behind my ear to my collarbone, scenting me like a dog.
His intentions unclear, my hands trembled, fearing his next action. His grip on my neck loosened marginally, enough for me to take a deep inhale and cough.
“Please, I did nothing.” I whimpered. His grin was feral as he moved his hand from my throat to behind my head and grabbed a handful of my hair, yanking my head back to look him directly in the eyes.
A wave of remembrance struck me as I saw his actions mirrored Dean’s.
Again, I found myself trembling in fear.
“You didn’t, but your bitch of a man did.”
I had no clue what he was talking about. The thought of Dean’s actions leading to this brutal confrontation left me with a hollow ache in my chest.
Dean wasn’t even here. How did this guy get in? My brain buzzed with questions, a chaotic swarm of confusion as I struggled to make sense of what was happening.
“Good thing he won’t be a problem anymore.” He spat as he released my hair and gripped my arm, pulling me roughly into the living room.
The moment my feet crossed the threshold of the main living area, a wave of dizziness washed over me as all the blood drained from my head.
Dean was on the floor, face down, in front of the sofa. He was motionless. I couldn’t see the rhythmic rise or fall of his chest.
My attacker grabbed my shoulders, pushing me toward Dean’s body and preventing me from turning away. Another man stood overtop, as if keeping watch to make sure he stayed put. I was sure that Dean wouldn’t be going anywhere.
I’d never seen a dead body before; the sight was shocking and surreal, the stillness unnatural. I’d never even been to a funeral. My parents didn’t have many friends or living relatives, which had worked to shield me, preventing exposure to life’s harsher realities.
Looking at Dean lying lifeless on the floor in our shared living room, I felt the darkness. I wasn’t inherently sad that Dean was gone, but there was a cloud of dread that sat suspended over the scene. Was I going to be next? What would happen to Charlie?
Charlie…
I fought the urge to look down the hall to our bedroom, where our little girl was sleeping.
I didn’t want to bring any unwanted attention towards her.
If I could shield her from the destruction and devastation, even for another couple of hours, until a neighbor found our bodies and called for help, I’d do anything to keep her from this.
A cold sweat slicked my palms as I whispered a desperate plea, every breath a tremor in the face of Charlie’s uncertain fate. A mother’s job was to keep her children fed, happy, and safe.
The hulking, dirty man who’d been holding me pushed my shoulders towards the ground. My knees buckled underneath, and I caught myself by my hands, my head dangerously close to Dean’s body. I fought the urge to vomit the contents of my stomach.
“This is what happens to fucking snakes.” He punctuated his words with a kick to Dean’s gut. His head lolled to the side, and I got a glimpse into his wide, terror-stricken eyes.
“Your man here decided to eat through my product that was meant to be sold. He owes me a whole lot of money.”
The lifeless orbs looked through me and I choked out a sob.
The sad part was, I wasn’t crying for Dean.
The punishment meted out by the thugs was probably deserved, given his past actions and behavior.
He was a shitty partner, an absent father, a drug addict, an abuser, and I was relieved that he was dead.
Not knowing what was about to happen, I cried. I was crying for our daughter, who was going to grow up an orphan. I was crying because I could sense death hovering - waiting to take me with him.
“Scuzz, you offin the girl or what? We’ve gotta get the fuck outta here.” The other intruder asked, his eyes just as beady and expressionless as his partner’s.
“I don’t think so,” he replied with a predatory tilt to his head. “There’s still a debt to pay, and she looks like a fun little play thing.”
A door slamming down the hallway had both men looking over their shoulders.
The seconds ticked by as they waited for whoever was outside the door to leave down the hall.
Sensing that the coast was clear, he crouched down in front of me and used his thick pointer finger to lift my chin, averting my gaze from Dean.
His smile was wicked as he licked his lips and leaned in close to my ear. “I didn’t plan on having a pretty piece of ass like yourself follow me home, but I’ll be back.”
His promise filled my veins with an icy dread. “You can run, but you can’t hide,” he whispered as he licked my earlobe. I found myself fighting against the urge to vomit again, not from the dead body, but from the insinuation of what this man could do to me.
As he pushed himself up to his feet and he and his partner disappeared down the quiet hallway, a choking sob escaped my throat, leaving me in stunned silence.
As soon as they shut the door behind them, I crumpled. The heaving sobs choked through my chest, making it hard to breathe. I scooted backwards on my hands and feet to rest my back against the closed door.
The tears flowed in rivers down my cheeks, my eyes becoming swollen and puffy by the minute, obstructing my vision .
A small whimper came from our bedroom and broke me from my pit of despair. In my desperation to keep myself from falling apart, I’d forgotten that Charlie was still in the other room, completely oblivious to our life crumbling around us.
With one last choked sob, I tore myself away from Dean’s stillness, the desperate need to survive overriding all else, and started packing.