Chapter 13 – Camille
Iwasn’t feeling up to going off on my own to the bar that night to chat up old guys.
It wasn’t because I didn’t feel great… though that was still true.
It had more to do with the fact that the town of Sarcott seemed to be full of Phils.
So, regardless, Erich was pulling for two as I sat at the circular table in the corner of the bar.
I wished I had thought of grabbing a book.
It would be a great distraction from the lingering stares I received from the patrons, and from how the cigarette smoke refused to fade and stuck to every inch of my skin and clothes.
Not only did that part gross me out, the bar also had a peculiar smell, as if a skunk was living in the walls.
My guts were churning again each time I forgot and failed to ignore the skunk smell.
Making every attempt to hold my breath for as long as possible, I gripped my bottle of Bud Light and practically inhaled a large enough sip. I cringed as I held the beer in my mouth, focusing on the bubbling of the alcohol.
Maybe I needed fresh air. Erich seemed to be doing okay in his game, and what was the harm in leaning over the guard rail and throwing up a little bit before I could have enough to drink that I wouldn’t be thinking of skunks and yellow, nicotine-stained walls?
As I got up from the table, practically tripping as my shoe stuck to a sticky spot on the wood floor, Erich flashed me a knowing look. I responded with a small smile before pointing at the back door.
I could see the hesitation in his eyes as they followed my short walk to the door.
The gears in his head were turning as he leaned forward on the pool stick, debating if he’d follow me out the door to hold my hair back again.
His step forward was cut off by the other pool player’s shot, a loud “crack” from the balls colliding, followed by a disappointed swear.
Erich’s jaw clenched as he watched me open the back door and escape the dimly lit bar into the night.
My lips parted as I gasped for breath. I took in as much fresh air as I could, as if I had resurfaced from several minutes underwater.
My fingers gripped the chipped wood of the fencing barricading the handicap access of the walkway, and I let my head fall forward enough to let the contents of my stomach loose if I needed to.
“Lady?” I heard a few feet away from me as I retched over the side of the wooden railing. I didn’t have enough room for embarrassment as I heard everything splash to the ground.
The stranger closed the gap between us, reaching to hold my hair back as I swatted him away with a lazy hand. “Please don’t touch me,” I rasped, seconds before I felt another wave take me out again. Even more concerning, my stomach started to ache, as if I had taken a gut punch.
The man didn’t give me my space back, and that was irritating enough alongside the fact that he was taking a front-row seat to my unfortunate misery. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand before flashing him my narrowed eyes of annoyance.
He picked up on the hint and stepped back to give me a few feet of space.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to get up in your business like that.” He chuckled nervously before taking his hat off. He flipped it around, wearing it backwards as our eyes met.
He had to be in his mid-thirties. He wore a dirt-stained T-shirt that read “Long Acre Farms” across the front, with a cartoon of a tractor going over a wheat field.
His jeans were covered with the same dusty brown dirt as his shirt.
He was only a few inches taller than me, and I couldn’t see his face too well under the flickering floodlight above the back door.
I could tell his face was hollowed, and his figure was slim as he scratched a spot on his arm.
I said nothing as I reached for the door again, but the man shakily closed in on me. “Wait, I wanted to ask a question.” His dirty, calloused hand encircled my wrist.
“Please. Don’t touch me.” I put emphasis on each word as I repeated my words from seconds earlier, pulling my wrist free of his grasp. What was wrong with him? It was as if he had no idea how to interact with people.
“Is that your boyfriend inside?” he asked, and I took my chance to raise my view from the scabs on his arm up to his face. The hand that was around my wrist was itching a spot on his arm again, this time a little too rough.
I had a feeling they weren’t bug bites, and my stomach began to flip-flop again.
“Huh?” I reached for the door again, and he stood in front of it. I let out a sigh of impatience as I tried to reach around him, and he shoved me back into the guard rail.
“The tall guy. You know who I’m talking about!” His voice rose. “Is he your boyfriend?”
I brushed my backside off as I stepped away from the guardrail. I wasn’t so much afraid of the man in front of me, who was scratching at invisible spots, but I was annoyed. “So what if he is?” I asked, moving for the door again. “What’s your problem?”
The man let out a loud, frustrated sound as his fist went into my gut, which was already aching. I doubled over as the air left my lungs. It didn’t hurt so much as it shocked me, and I took a few seconds to straighten up again.
The door flung open, and I glared up at the man as Erich nearly toppled him over with the steel door. Erich took no more than two seconds to assess my hands over my stomach and the shifty, itchy farmer before grabbing the guy by the front of his shirt and holding him over the railing.
“Did you touch her?” he asked as his fingers gripped the cotton of the man’s shirt, twisting so his ribs showed bare under the moon. The man’s head was over the railing, and his dark eyes darted back to me as I spit on the ground at his feet.
“Just give me my bag back, man.” The farmer pleaded. “That’s all I want, I don’t want trouble.”
Erich’s face tightened as he leered down at the man, then his lips twitched as he let out a sarcastic laugh. “Your bag? Fucking meth head…”
He let go of his shirt, giving the farmer enough time to think he was in the clear as he brushed his shirt down. The man opened his mouth to say something else, but Erich’s fist flew into his jaw, sending him backwards over the railing and into my vomit.
I gasped in response, my stomach tightening as the nausea came over me again. The wave of pain was like a rubber band around my middle, and I threw myself at the railing to brace myself for what was to come.
“That’s for touching her.” Erich spit at the man who was rolling in my vomit, then dug in his pocket and revealed a small bag of white crystals. He opened it, sprinkling the contents over his latest enemy before dropping the bag over the railing as well. “That’s for asking so nicely.”
I clutched my stomach, feeling the now-familiar icy heat of a cold sweat take over my body. The waves of pain were making me feel ill, but not ill enough to vomit again. Erich’s hand grazed my shoulder as he leaned down, the concern etched in his knit eyebrows and stiff jaw. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” I grunted, leaning forward as if the motion would help the crest of pain taking over my stomach. I gaped down and noticed my pants were damp, and panic rose from my aching belly to my racing heart.
Erich saw it too, and the next thing I knew, he was picking me up, practically grabbing me and holding me in his arms, with one arm in the crook of my knees and his other arm underneath my shoulders.
“How hard did he hit you?” he asked as his pace quickened to the car.
“I think there’s a hospital next town over. We’ll figure it out.”
“Not hard…” The smell of blood drifted to my nostrils, and I started to put the pieces together. My cheek brushed Erich’s jacket, my gaze following the line of his collarbones up to his face. “Actually… he might’ve done me a favor.”
Erich stopped, the Nova only a few feet away, as he fixated on me in his arms.
“What?”
“It’s either my period or I miscarried.” I choked on my inappropriate laugh as Erich’s eyebrows rose in surprise at my realization, and maybe further surprise at how disgustingly hilarious I found the whole situation.
Because if you don’t laugh, you cry. And it was another piece of the puzzle as I found my own therapy through the worst part of my young life.
“Wait…” I said aloud. Erich was setting me down in an attempt to open the passenger side door for me.
His weary gaze in my direction was ironically amusing in my deranged mind, as I thought of how he was thinking about how he got stuck with me, a basket case, by passing through Mississippi. “Why did you have his meth?”
Erich sighed, but it turned into a chuckle as he ushered me into the car.
“Meth heads always bet the house.” His smirk etched itself in my brain as he leaned down and buckled my seatbelt for me.
My cheeks burned as I thought of the fact I’d be bleeding on his passenger seat, but he didn’t seem concerned about my situation.
“I probably would’ve made a good profit on that one, too.
But that was satisfying enough giving it back to him. ”