Ocean (Damage Control 5)

If only I stopped dreaming about him going down on me and fucking me hard with his big dick, everything would be peachy.

Chapter Ten

Ocean

Driving toward Milwaukee, a bunch of fresh lilies on the passenger seat for Livvy—they were her favorite flower—I wonder if this is the weekend it will happen. That my old man won’t be around, and I’ll just take Mom with me to find a doctor, and a hospital, and a place to live far away from the trailer park.

Where my old man won’t find her.

For months now I’ve been saving money, and planning, and biding my time, but last time she looked real bad. She says she doesn’t give the money I give her to him. That she doesn’t tell him anything.

I sure hope so. Fuckin

g asshole would gamble it all away in two minutes flat.

Like he always has. Every cent Mom brought home, every cent the government gave us, all gone down the drain before we even saw it. My hands grip the wheel of my Chevy until my knuckles turn white as memory after memory hits me.

Of Raine wailing in hunger as Mom rocked in her chair, a blank look on her face. My old man returning from another bad game in a temper, pushing us out of the way, kicking at us, cursing.

Myself and Raine eating cat food on a back porch in a street down from the park. Of searching through the dumpsters for rotten leftovers. Of begging from door to door.

Fuck it. I’m taking Mom away, and no regrets.

None, except for Damage Control, my art, my friends and Kayla.

Goddammit. Kayla.

Images and sensations assault me—the softness of her lips, of her skin, the heavy weight of her tits, the taste of her pussy. Her wide eyes, her crooked smile.

Fuck. Why now? Why did I have to get a taste, right before I have to fucking leave?

She called a few times since last night. I didn’t pick up. Hearing her warm voice is dangerous. It makes me forget about my decisions, about Mom and leaving.

I shift to second gear as I take the turn for the trailer park, and I have some trouble with it. Shit. I push harder, and there’s a “thud” from the gear box.

What the hell? I checked the engine after we were reamed with Seth and didn’t find any issues. Fluid levels looked all right.

Then again, I’ve been so sleep-deprived lately, what with Jason being sick, the nightmares and the more pleasant dreams about Kayla, I’m not sure I would have seen a pink elephant sitting on top of my Chevy.

At least the weather is good. Dry.

My hands clench on the wheel, tension radiating up my neck. My head throbs in time to my heart, the pain driving spikes into the back of my eyes.

My emergency backpack is in the trunk. I have it ready, just in case. And last night I talked to Jason. Told him the rent is paid to the end of the month, and that he can stay, even if I don’t go back.

He’s much better now. The fever has long broken, but his cough is bad. I hope he stays. Somebody had better use the apartment for as long as it’s available anyway. And I kinda like Jason. He’s a tough guy beneath the frail exterior.

Like Raine. I’ll never forget, for as long as I live, the day of the accident, when he found out that Livvy had died. Or that our aunt was coming to pick him up and take him away.

Away from me.

Where he’d be fed, for God’s sakes, and taken care of, and be kept safe. Where he could go to school, and learn stuff, and be happy. That’s what I thought as I cried alone behind the trailer later that day. He’d be happy. And healthy. One day he’d see that it was the right thing to do.

But what if I was wrong? What if I screwed up in every fucking way? After all that, is it any wonder he can’t get why I keep coming back to visit our folks? Or that he’s mad as hell at me?

What is strange, though, is that he makes it sound as if I put others over him when he won’t even talk to me. When he blames me for everything.

And fuck, I can’t really explain what keeps dragging me back here. Why I should feel responsible for Mom when she never took care of me or Raine. Why I should feel guilty I didn’t try to take her away earlier. Save her.