Released (Caged 3)

“I’m not,” I argued. “I’m just being descriptive.”

I had to smile at the familiarity of the conversation. I couldn’t remember how many times Tria had told me not to call our neighbor Krazy Katie, as if I were trying to be insulting. Lucky for me, Krazy Katie didn’t seem to have an opinion.

“I wish I could do more for her,” Tria said as she stood up and we prepared to leave.

“I brought her cigs,” I said. “She doesn’t ever want anything else.”

“We should get her some groceries.”

“I checked—she’s got enough for a while.”

Tria gnawed at her lip, and I reached over to take her hand.

“We’ll come back and take her to get her check cashed next Thursday.”

Tria nodded and reached out to hug Krazy Katie, who didn’t seem to notice at all. Before we left, Tria still felt the need to assure her we’d be coming back to help her out occasionally.

That was the easy part.

Next stop—Yolanda’s.

“Don’t tell me you went right back to this fuck up.” Yolanda’s greeting assaulted us as soon as she opened the door.

“I’m clean,” I told her. I tried to keep my voice down and remain calm, but all I really wanted to do was punch her. It had been way too long since I’d punched anyone, and I was starting to feel like Dexter. Sixteen days, nine hours, and forty-two minutes since I last kicked the shit out of someone.

“Heard that one before,” Yolanda said, “way too many times. I told you we were through.”

“I just came to get my things,” Tria said.

“You don’t have to do that,” Yolanda said. “You can stay here—no hard feelings.”

“No hard feelings?” Tria’s eyes widened, and then she began to yell. “No hard feelings? You all but left him for dead!”

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“Do you have any idea how many times?” Yolanda snapped. “How many times I hauled his sorry ass out of the gutter to shower him off and sober him up again? Any idea? Every time, the same words spew out of his mouth—‘it won’t happen again.’”

As much as I wanted to argue and fight back, there was far too much truth in her words.

“Not for a long time,” I said quietly. It was all I had.

“So you made it four years,” Yolanda said with a nod. “Four years of calm in your life—eat, work out, fight, and sleep. As soon as something happens that’s a little bit tough or unexpected, you do what?”

I looked away, trying to find meaning in the stained bit of carpet in the corner of the hallway.

“You turn to heroin,” she said. “As much muscle as you’ve put on, you’re still the weakest man I’ve ever known.”

“Shut up,” Tria said. Her voice was eerily calm. “Liam’s going to get some real help now, not just beat up someone in place of the drugs. Professional help.”

“You’re going to see a shrink?” Yolanda laughed. “You really think after ten years that’s going to matter?”

“I won’t let her down,” I finally said.

“Heard that one before, too,” Yolanda replied.

“Just stop,” Tria said. “I need to get my stuff, and then we’ll be out of your way.”

“Don’t go back to him, Tria,” Yolanda said. Her voice softened. “I’m not just trying to be a bitch here. I’ve known him too long. He might be off the shit now, and maybe he’ll even stay that way for a year. Hell, maybe even two. And then something will happen. Maybe the baby has colic or gets sick or whatever it is, and he won’t be able to cope. He’ll go back to heroin, and you’ll be back on my doorstep.”