FIVE
A Thing Called Revenge
Seven
“You’re a fucking idiot,” I told my reflection in the mirror. “A goddamn idiot.” Bobby pin in my mouth, I twisted my hair up into a simple high ponytail and made a bun, using the pin to clip it all in place. I wiped underneath my eyes, rubbing at the permanent darkness that seemed to linger there in the past few months. Leaning into the mirror, I checked my teeth, pulling out some floss and making sure I got into all the nooks and crannies. That done, I took a deep breath and realized what I was doing. I was procrastinating.
Lucky was expected to arrive any moment now but I was doing my damnedest to pretend that wasn’t the case. His infamous charm had lasered into me earlier, incinerating my resolve into ashes as if it were nothing. And Indy, the traitor, had set me up! I almost didn’t know who to hate more.
Peeved, I exited the bathroom and crossed the short hallway to Indy’s old room. It had been cleaned out, leaving no trace of my bipolar roomie who used to tack pages and pages of her writing onto the walls. They were bare now. Now only a single picture frame was hanging on the wall. As destructive as her habits were, they were an important part of Indy and I never let that stop me from caring about her. I was happy she was moving in with Hastie, but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t miss having her as a roommate.
The twin bed she slept on was now stripped of its bedding. Smiling, I moved to grab the clean pink sheets that I had picked out earlier.
I knew this fact: Bikers had an aversion to the color pink, which was my reason for choosing this particular color in the first place. In a moment of weakness, I’d caved into Lucky’s ministrations. But that didn’t mean I had to lie back and allow him to turn my world upside down again. Bikers rarely played by the rules. Who said I had to either?
After making the bed, I walked over to the small bedside table. On it laid a small bottle of lavender oil. It was actually one of Indy’s belongings. She had a habit of spraying her sheets with the floral scent but must’ve forgotten it here when she had moved her stuff out.
Taking the bottle in my hand, I spritz a small amount of it onto the sheets, coughing a little when some of it ran up my nose. I wasn’t a big fan of the scent, but not because it didn’t smell pleasant to my olfactory senses but because the scent triggered memories from my childhood that I would much prefer stay in the past.
My mother had also loved lavender. Whenever work had her away for more than a few days, I’d watch her spray the fragrance over my father’s pillow. She said it was so that he would think of her while she was away. Thinking back, it was a sweet memory. But what she hadn’t known was that Dad was already cheating on her with another woman for the better part of the year.
The bitter feelings associated with the scent tried to claw at me. But I forced myself to concentrate on the task at hand.
The lace curtains were pulled back to reveal an empty sky but for the moon. Walking over to draw the curtains closed, I allowed myself to admire the view for a second. The moon cast a pale glow over the sparse buildings, the exterior worn and faded from the intense heat. The solar flares had seemed to settle for now; we hadn’t had one for a while. But there was always a trace of humidity regardless of whether the sun was in view or not. I had left the window open halfway earlier, hoping some cooler air would breeze in.
Motion in the corner of my eye caught my attention. Frowning, I leaned in, looking to see if maybe Lucky had already arrived. Through the darkness, there was nothing I could see apart from the stars. But I could have sworn there was something lurking in the shadows. Perhaps it was a trick of the light? Or the wind?
Spooked, I shut the window and drew the curtains closed, beating feet towards the kitchen. There were knives there. And it was also the place where I felt the safest. My kitchen utensils were considered mundane inanimate objects, but in my hands, they made me feel powerful. I learned early on in my cooking career that I could make something out of nothing and bring happiness to people on a single platter.
I was fixing myself a quick drink when my mind traced back to older times. Before the first of the solar flares six years ago, I had big dreams. I wanted to own my own restaurant. As young and naïve as I was, so were my ambitions at the time. Since then, those dreams had dashed away, replaced with the sobering realization that it would never happen. The onset of the solar flares destroyed our world right before our eyes, purging humanity at an incredible speed. Because of the intense heat, it was difficult to grow or harvest food. I understood the impossibility of a bright future for myself when food became more and more difficult to obtain in the post-flare world.
Loud pounding on the door made me jump. “Seven?” Lucky called from outside. “Open up!”
I groaned even as relief coursed through me. So it had been Lucky who was lurking outside. “And the nightmare begins . . .” I muttered to myself as I shuffled to the front door. Opening it, a large forest green duffle bag came at me. I was forced to catch it or be squished to death. “Oof!”
“Thanks. Be right back,” Lucky said as the sounds of his retreating footsteps echoed in the empty night. The duffle bag was big, bulky, and heavy as hell. I did a little waddling towards the living room to set it down before my stick legs snapped from the weight. Without any care, I dropped it and heard a loud crack. Oops! Hope that hadn’t been important.
Lucky came through the door then, carrying two more big bags in either hand. He used his boot to kick the door shut and walked straight into the living room. “Watch where you’re stepping! You’re getting shit on the floors!”
He looked down, noticed that he had indeed made a trail of dirt, and toed off his boots one by one. “So where am I sleeping?”
“You’ve got two options,” I told him, holding up two corresponding fingers. “You can sleep down here, on the couch. Or you can sleep upstairs.”
Before I had finished talking, Lucky was already taking the steps two at a time. I tried not to notice the way his arms bulged with carrying such a heavy load. Or the way his thighs looked massive in his blue jeans. He looked so comfortable in his own skin. Dressed in a black T-shirt that molded to this torso, I had to admit that the sight wasn’t disgusting. What would Lucky look like without his shirt on?
When his growling voice echoed from upstairs, I barely suppressed my laughter. “Oh, hell no,” Lucky griped. “You can’t be serious!” I climbed up the stairs, stopping at the top where Lucky stood, bags still in his hands as he eyed his new accommodations. His expression said it all. “What the hell is that smell?”
“It’s lavender,” I explained. “Helps with relaxation.”
“Are you crazy?”
I shrugged. “Indy likes it.”
“I am really questioning her taste right now,” he shot back. “And what the fuck is this?” He gestured to the baby pink bed.
“It’s your new sleeping quarters, secretary.”
“Fuck that! I’m not sleeping in a pink bed!”
I smiled. “Rethinking your stay?”
“What?” He shot me a dirty glance. “No. I’ll just sleep on the couch.”
“That’s fine by me.” The farther away he was, the better.
Lucky did an about-face and marched back down the stairs, but not before he shot me another scathing glare in my direction. Normally, I would help anyone who was staying at my place get settled. But instead I walked to my own bedroom and shut the door behind me.
I didn’t want Lucky getting any ideas that we were going to be friends while he stayed here. For as long as he was going to be here, I would make every day miserable for him so that he’d never try to manipulate me again. A smile curled my lips. I was going to make Lucky’s life a living hell.
Lucky
“Fucking flowers.” I dropped my duffel bags beside the couch. My nose was still itching from the strong scent upstairs. Who the hell even used that shit? Clean sheets were clean. Why mess them up by spraying shit all over it?
And the pink? My mind couldn’t even attempt to comprehend that. I knew Seven had done this on purpose. Was this payback for what I’d done earlier? Whatever. It would take more than the overwhelming scent of flowers and pink sheets to get rid of me.
Shaking my head, I devoted my attention on unpacking my bags. There was less chance of an aneurysm that way. Though I figured that if I had to live with Seven for longer than a week, I might just kill myself instead. There was less pain that way.
The last time I was here sitting on this couch, we’d gotten caught in a storm. At the time, anything had felt better than being out in the rain. Now, with the hot breeze from outside wafting in, the soft fabric of the couch seemed overly warm.
I usually slept naked, but I figured since I was sleeping in the living room where there were no closed doors, Seven would probably appreciate some clothes on my body. See? Who said I wasn’t accommodating?
Much like everything else recently, sleep eluded me. I tossed and turned until I decided that the floor might be a better option. In the two months I’d been away, I’d slept on an old mattress on the floor. It wasn’t the most comfortable thing but when the day exhausted you, rocks were good enough to lie on as long as you could give your brain a break.
As I spread out on the ground and tucked the cushion from the couch under my head, the scent of my sister’s strawberry shampoo filled my nostrils. Leaving her had been hard, but I couldn’t stay with her forever either. Her life and her health were now in her hands.
Since seeing her again, I found it hard not to remember our childhood. So much of it felt like it was repeating. First, my mother. Now, my baby sister. It seemed that the both of them were cut from the same pattern, both falling prey to the same devil.
Closing my eyes, my mind opened up, bringing to the surface everything I had buried deep in my memories . . .
“The skies above are blue. My heart was wrapped up in clover, the night I looked at you.”
She sang to me. Whenever my mother was sad, she would sing songs from her favorite artists.
Sometimes they were sad songs that fit her mood, but most of the time, she’d sing songs that allowed her to belt out those high notes and be as loud and as boisterous as she dared to be.
I grew to love those moments. They became the only good memories I had of my mother. At those times, she was the loving, nurturing mother that adored her children.
It was those memories I wanted to keep with me.
“Dylan,” she smiled as she looked down at me. I sat on the couch of our two-room apartment, playing with the TV remote control. Half the time, we didn’t have cable, but today seemed like one of those lucky days. Lennon was sitting in her lap, being cuddled like the princess she was when Ma craned her neck to look out the window. “Could you watch your sister while I see who is at the door?”
I stiffened at the request but nodded as she carefully placed Lennon on the couch beside me and went to answer the door. I knew who it was even before there was a knock.
I didn’t like Wild Bill. He was often too loud and pushy. And he made Ma cry on more than one occasion. Today, he was wearing an oversized black shirt that hung like a drape over his beer belly. His receding hairline was covered with a baseball cap that read “Velvet Lounge” on the front, and he always seemed to smell funny. My nostrils would sting whenever he was around.
He followed Ma into our apartment, shooting me a cursory glance before he tossed something in a plastic bag onto the kitchen table. Our dog, Bishop, was a greyhound and he immediately went to it, thinking it was food.
I couldn’t tell exactly what it was from my place on the couch, but it looked like a stack of bills. I was sure my eyes got wide and dollar signs were now rolling in over my pupils because Wild Bill barked, “Not fucking yours, kid. But maybe one day when you’re older you can work for me and earn cash like a real man.”
I was eight. What did I know about making money? All I knew was that we didn’t have enough of it. Shamed into being caught salivating over it, I turned my attention to Lennon but kept my ears open and alert to their conversation.
“You got what I need?” Ma asked.
“Yeah.” I didn’t have to look over to know he had a grin on his face.
“Good,” Ma said, sounding relieved. “I just need a little to tide me over. I’m going to quit after this. I swear it.”
“That’s what you said last time, lady. And the time before that. I like you, I do. But Wild Bill knows when he’s got someone hooked and that sparkle in your eye, honey, that’s need like I’ve never seen before.”
I frowned, keeping my gaze off them even as instinct told me something was up. Why did he always talk about himself in third person?
“I’ve just been feeling really down lately, you know? I need something to pick me back up.”
“Wild Bill’s got ya.” He pulled out a leather pouch from his jacket, and inside I could see small little baggies that Ma often used to keep her jewelry in. This time, they were filled with something white and powdery.
“What’s that?” I asked from my place on the couch.
“Oh, honey—” Ma started but was cut off when Wild Bill’s eyes danced and he tossed his head back in a roaring laugh.
“This?” He held up one of the packets in his hand, pinching it with a thumb and pointer finger. “This is just some medicine to make your mom feel happy. You want your mom to be happy, right?”
My eyes cut to Ma who was frozen and silent. Her face had gone a little pale, as if someone had forgot to color in the redness in her cheeks that morning. “Yes,” I whispered.
Ma’s lips lifted in a sad smile as tears began to form in her eyes. No, wait! Why was she crying? I wanted her to be happy. She deserved to be happy.
“Good,” Wild Bill chimed. “Then we’re all going to be happy in a short time, aren’t we?” he asked Ma.
Ma was still looking at me, wetness trailing down her cheeks. I stared back at her confused by all this. Then her gaze cut to Lennon who was undressing her Barbie and scattering all her clothing on the floor. “No,” Ma whispered then. She turned to face Wild Bill and there was added strength in her voice now. “No, Bill. I’ve changed my mind.”
“What?”
“I don’t want it. I’ll make do without it.” She moved towards me, wrapping her arms around my shoulders and tugging me close to her body as if to protect me. I looked up at her and then glanced back at Wild Bill.
His expression had changed. He was no longer happy. Wild Bill was pissed.
“I came all this way here to make a buy, bitch. You’re gonna buy.”
“No,” Ma said more firmly. “I’ve changed my mind. Take your things and leave.”
Wild Bill blew out a breath, clearly displeased about making the trip all the way here. But he gathered his things and made to leave. As Ma ushered him out the door, I finally allowed myself to relax.
I didn’t think my young mind could fully understand all that had happened, but I knew that we had just grazed a bullet with that.
Ma was just returning from locking the door when there was another knock. She turned back around, opened the door a smidgen without removing the chain lock. “Bill?”
“I’ve changed my mind too,” Wild Bill growled right before he kicked the door open, causing it to hit Ma in the face as she stumbled back on a startled cry.
I was in action, moving fast towards her to help when Wild Bill shot me once furious look and swatted me away like a fly. My head hit the wall in a hard smack. I heard Lennon’s distressed crying, saw Ma lying motionless on the floor a few feet away from me, blood pooling from her nose, before my vision wavered and darkness pulled me under.
The memory sat like a lump of coal in my heart. I later learned that Wild Bill had robbed us, trashing the house, but left a crying Lennon untouched as far as we could tell. The apartment, though, suffered. Everything was ruined. Even with the damage to the doors, we couldn’t afford to move to a nicer place.
I’d earned a mild concussion when I’d hit my head against the wall, but Ma had the worst of the injuries. Her face had been bashed in with that one blow, crushing her nose. For a while, she was down and I became the man of the house at eight years old, taking care of her and Lennon until she got better.
From her bed, she would curl up with Lennon and sing to her, cooing softly and belting out song lyrics whenever she felt stronger. That year, I learned to do basic housework. It caused you to grow up fast. At eight, I didn’t have the means to make it on my own. Running wasn’t ever an option. In fact, at the time, the thought of it never crossed my mind. What had happened to us was just a shitty thing. I never once thought it was because of my mother’s addiction. An eight-year-old boy still had rose-colored glasses on and didn’t know shit about how addiction could fuck up a person’s life.
What a fucking fool I’d been.