It was a typical Saturday in my world. Women half naked, men grabbing on them, people I didn’t know having sex in our living room, and probably every other room. There was beer for days, people I’ve never seen doing lines off my coffee table, leaving a mess for me to clean up later. Zeke sat on the dingy couch in front of a flat screen that cost more than my tuition. There was a football game, a boxing match or some other sport to place bets on. It wasn’t always so seedy, but in the time since our move it got progressively worse; to the point where I barely slept and showered at 6am because fewer people were in the house.

“Hey!” I snapped out of my head when Zeke yelled across the room at me, waving me over. He already had a girl on each side, so why he wanted me, I don’t know. I pushed off the stairs and walked over, playing the dutiful girlfriend, “I’m empty.” The empty beer can hit me in the chest and I fumbled to catch it while the room erupted in laughter. I used the term ‘girlfriend’ very loosely. There was a time when I saw the good in Zeke, but those times were long gone. A girl can only take so much.

“Yeah, sure.” I whispered, turning back to the kitchen to get him another beer. I tossed the can in the trash and the smell hit me. Beer was never my drink of choice, but the smell mixed with old food made my stomach churn. I slammed the lid, took a second to breathe away my nausea, and went to the fridge for another beer. Opening the fridge made me want to puke again, but I kept it down. When I stood, a hand grabbed my hair and snapped my head backward.

“Hey sexy, wanna grab me one too?” Travis, Zeke’s best friend shoved me toward the open fridge, letting go of my hair to slap my ass. The knot in my stomach tightened and I fought to keep my face blank. If Zeke saw him touching me, we’d both be sorry. I stooped to grab the beer only to turn back to see Travis’ dick hanging out.

“Oh, God, ew!” I stumbled back into the nasty fridge, “Put that shit away Travis! Zeke will kill you.” I slid between him and the fridge, slamming his beer on the table to take the other to Zeke. I made my way past the trash can again when I had to go throw up. I knew it was full and puking in it would only make the mess worse. I shoved some skank out of the way and slammed the bathroom door just in time to drop the beer and grab the toilet. After emptying my stomach of all my lunch, I brushed my teeth while looking myself over in the mirror and turning away in disgust. Black hair washed me out, but Zeke said blondes were whores, so insisted I dye my hair black. I learned not to argue. Black hair, added to the dark circles under my eyes, made me look like death.

With Zeke’s beer in hand, I headed back to the living room to find my ‘boyfriend’ with one girl sucking him off on her knees in front of him, and the other kissing him like a horny teenager. People cheered them on like it was a sporting event and I just stood there by the bathroom humiliated. I wasn’t jealous because I didn’t give a shit about Zeke anymore, but all the pitying looks coming from all the other women in the room was enough to make me want to curl up and die. Every skank there was looking at me like I was the one to feel bad for.

A hand on my wrist pulled me from the porn in my living room, and my face got hot when I looked up at Travis, “You can share, but he can’t now?” His grip tightened to the point of pain, but I didn’t react.

“No.” I jerked away pointlessly.

I was pulled right back into him, his hand crushing my wrist. He grabbed my ass with his other hand and whispered in my ear. “Prude little bitch. Take Daddy his beer.” Travis shoved me back into the door frame and I watched him strut over to some whore and grab her ass. Pig. I brought my attention back to Zeke just in time to see him shove his junk back in his pants and the girl climb up from her knees, wiping her mouth, smiling. I knew he would remember the beer soon, and moved to hand it to him. All eyes were on me while I approached my cheating piece of shit boyfriend. To Zeke it wasn’t cheating unless we were married, but the guy had never asked, and I wouldn’t have agreed anyway. My stupidity did have a limit, and the limit was exceeded a few months ago. The last thing I wanted was to be tied to him even more.

“There you are,” Zeke ripped the beer from my hand, “Thought you got lost. I had to let Kim take care of me.” I swallowed, mumbling an apology, “You get lost?”

I shook my head, “No, just not feeling well. I think I picked up a bug. Sorry, baby.”

Before I can get away, Zeke jerked me down by my other arm, squeezing it hard. I was so close to his face, “Don’t embarrass me like that again, Meredith. You’re my bitch and when I need you, you should be there. Clear?” his nails dug into my skin, leaving bruises, “Answer me.”

“Yes. I’m sorry.” It came out strained, but I said it anyway. Zeke kissed my cheek and let my arm go.

“Good girl.” I made a hasty retreat when the room cheered, and all attention went back to the TV. One man danced in the center of the ring, hands in the air, while the other could barely stand, head hanging in shame, blood dripping down his face. I stared at him for a moment, understanding exactly how he felt. A stack of money slapping against the table in front of Zeke snapped me out of my self-pity and back to the hell that was my life. He waved the money at me and pointed to the second step. Zeke never let anyone upstairs at our parties, and had me guard the bottom step to keep his paranoia in check. I took my seat back on the step and waited for Zeke to call on me for something else, praying that he lost a little money and threw everyone out.

It wasn’t long, just one more fight, before I was summoned for a beer run. Zeke shouted at me without looking back and I nearly ran to his side. I’d already pissed him off enough for one night. He handed me some bills, told me to walk to the convenience store, reminding me that we had a lot of people over. We didn’t discuss that I wasn’t old enough to buy alcohol. We knew the guy at the store would sell it to me, because he knew what happened if he didn’t. The poor man only made that mistake once.

“Can I take the car? It’ll get the beer here faster.” I was stupid to ask. It was my car, the one my parents gave me for my eighteenth birthday, but Zeke put gas in it, kept it up, and had the keys. If you can call an occasional oil change and bald tires keeping it up. I didn’t dare go anywhere unless he okayed it anyway.

Zeke looked around the room, noting all the people watching, and tossed the keys at me, “Come straight back.” He pointed to his cheek and I leaned down to kiss him, “You can thank me later. I’m good for now.” I smiled and nodded, knowing I didn’t have a choice anyway. Grabbing my purse, I slipped out the door and took a second to breathe before climbing in my car. If he had said no, I would have been carrying back several cases of beer, making at least three trips. My phone alarm went off, and I checked the screen- ‘take your pill.’ I stared at it for a minute, realizing I didn’t remember the last time I had a period despite taking the week of placebo pills the week before. I shook my head, pulled my pills from my purse and popped it in. Being sick, or maybe stress was messing with my system.

Fuck. The sun coming through the motel curtains started the pounding behind my eyes, but I forced them open anyway. I quickly snapped them shut, rubbing the heel of my hands into my forehead. I tried again and failed. The light was just too bright. Before I crashed, I’d been up for at least thirty-six hours, maybe more. Whatever sleep I managed that morning was not enough. Work Friday, high Saturday, blackout drunk somewhere in there, and home on Sunday. According to my cell, it was a little past noon Sunday. I crashed sometime around four in the morning after drinking enough to not remember which hotel I ended up at. I didn’t even know how many people were with me. The woman in the bed next to me didn’t even stir when I sat up and dropped my feet into some beer bottles. I stretched my back only to figure out how bad the headache was and how hungover I would be. The pain nearly had me lying back down, but I needed to get the hell outta there.

When I could open my eyes again, I took stock of the room, trying to piece together the night before. Another woman was laid out on the couch, skirt pushed around her hips, and lines were cut on the mirror on the table. Guess none of us made it to the good stuff before the pills and beer caught up with us. Stumbling to the bathroom, I promptly dropped to my knees at the toilet and puked up whatever I drank the night before. Once I was done, I braced myself on the counter to climb off the floor. The trash can had several used condoms, so at least I wrapped it up. Last thing I needed was some pregnant woman knocking on my door. I splashed some cold water on my face, avoided the mirror, and checked my missed calls. My brother. Ever responsible, living the fucking life, and happy as hell, Briggs. Guess he needed to check and see if I had made him an only child yet. Now, that’s not a bad idea. Every pill I took had me wishing it was the last one.

I dropped two hundred on the table, not sure if I needed to pay for the room, or the women, and left the room. As I walked to my car I saw the weathered Gateway Inn sign. The Gateway was an all-time low. The place was every crack whore’s dream. It was the worst place I had ended up lately, or ever. I didn’t want women in my house, and most girls I ended up with didn’t have anything outside a shared apartment with their pimp, so motels were a weekly ritual. I backed my car out, glad it still had tires, and floored it toward home. I left the windows down to air out my clothes. I smelled like booze, vomit, and death.

I fucking hated Sundays. Ma and Harriet would be cooking for whatever dinner party was planned, and Briggs would be out in the yard with Murphy, while I smelled like shit and probably looked worse. I didn’t belong in my own fucking home. I didn’t want to. They had the happy family thing down to a sickening fucking art, but I wasn’t the type. Too much of my father in me, I guess. Addictions love to run in families, so why fight Mother Nature?

I made it halfway across town before I had to pull off on a side road to puke again. The drive took twice as long because of my vomit breaks. What the hell did I take? I finally made it home and parked behind Briggs’ Prius. I checked my appearance before getting out. Deep purple bags, three days of stubble, and no color in my face. I looked like a corpse. I might as well have been. There had to be more to life than booze, drugs, and sex, but I had yet to find a damn thing outside that golden trio to make me even a little happy. If I sat too long and started thinking, I could never think of anything that didn’t depress me, so I tried to avoid thinking, numbing my thoughts with one vice or another. I fixed my hair, changed into a clean shirt from my gym bag, and popped in a piece of gum. Fake it ‘til ya’ make it. I locked my car and headed up to the porch to enter the lion’s den. Sure enough, the world inside was not mine. It was a beautiful home full of ghosts.

Briggs was just coming down the stairs, Murphy on his heels. My brother avoided looking at me, but was nice enough to pat my back as I headed up past him. I had to change into something to go for a run. I couldn’t stay long or the guilt trips started, and I lost my shit on people.

“Beck?” Harriet’s voice caught me mid-step and I put on a smile to greet her, “There are two bottles of water and some aspirin on your desk. Glad you’re home.” She gave me a weak smile and I nodded. I could lie to Ma and Briggs, but not Harriet. The girl lived with addiction for too long to not know. Briggs probably knew, but would never break our mother’s heart with the news of my weekend activities. “Need anything else?”

“I’m not your problem, but thanks,” I couldn’t even look her in the eyes. My brother’s woman was far too good to me. Harriet left me meals in the microwave, aspirin by my bed, and probably made my brother call to check on me. After what I put her and Briggs through, I didn’t deserve it. There wasn’t much in life I did deserve.

In my room, water and aspirin were exactly where she said, and I quickly made good use of it before changing clothes. I chugged both bottles of water, and tossed an extra aspirin back. My whole body ached, but the pounding in my head took the fucking cake. Every noise, every movement made my head hurt worse. A good run would mean I could sweat it out, and work out my soreness. Kick my own ass for a while. I needed an ass kicking, but no one was really willing to deliver it. Not since I got caught with a married woman anyway. I deserved that beating twice over.

I looked a little less like strung out death when I made it down to the kitchen where the homemaking was happening. Ma and Harriet were baking, Briggs and Murphy were on the porch, and everyone looked happy as hell.

“Well, nice of you to come home to check on your poor mother.” Ma gave me that look that almost made me feel guilty…almost. My hangover still hadn’t ebbed enough to feel much.

“Yeah, figured I should grace you with my presence,” I grabbed a steaming piece of bread and took a bite. Any more than dry bread and I’d be hugging the toilet again, “Party tonight?” They constantly had some shit to celebrate, but I never participated. Some weeknights, when I needed to stay sober for work, I played pool with Harriet and Briggs, but the weekends were for overindulging. Sunday nights were rough. I had to stay sober for work the next day, but my brother always had company over. I usually ended up locked in my room trying to ignore the shit downstairs.

“Always, it’s Sunday,” Harriet patted my arm, carrying a dish to the fridge, “Are you staying?”

I opened my mouth to say no, but a completely different sentence fell out, “I’m going for a run, then I’ll be back.” I have no idea what made me agree. If Briggs had asked, I would have laughed and been a dick, but since Harriet extended the invitation, I agreed. Maybe it was the way Harriet always left me water and aspirin, taking care of me even if I wasn’t hers to care about. Maybe Ma’s guilt had worked. My phone rang and I stepped out to the porch to watch my brother, “Beck.” I answered the phone.

“It’s Wegman. Got some stuff in you may wanna see,” I tried not to think of myself as a druggie. I had a good job, a damn good job, and kept my shit together when it mattered. I did, however, have a dealer for when booze didn’t cut it. Booze didn’t cut it much at all anymore. Half the time, I didn’t even know what I was buying.

“Same time and place?” I turned my back when Briggs made eye contact, and Wegman agreed before I hung up. I took the opportunity to flip through the gallery on my phone. Me and the woman passed out on the couch had taken pictures at a club, then in my car, and then the three of us in the motel room I quickly swiped to delete them, almost wishing I could remember the fun. The last woman that didn’t require me to be high as hell was Karen Tolley. Not like a cared about her, but she refused to fuck me when I was high or drunk. She was wild too. I learned that night for the final time that married women were a bad idea. Former MMA fighters don’t take well to their wife sucking off other men. I swore off women with baggage that night. Party girls and strippers started filling my weekends. They didn’t judge me for my habits, and usually partied harder than me. There weren’t any strings after fucking them. I could never call them back, and none of them cared.

“Beck,” Briggs made me jump, hitting the delete icon on my phone as he and Murphy came up the steps, “Whoa, you’re jumpy.”

“I was… Doesn’t matter. You need something?” My brother lifted the edge of his shirt and wiped the sweat from his forehead, flashing the fucking scar on his stomach. I bit my cheek until I tasted blood. I hated that fucking scar.

“Sorta, Harriet and I are going to the mountains in a couple of weeks. Can you stay with Ma? Ruth offered to stop by, but I would feel better if you were here.” Briggs tossed the ball off the porch for Murph and waited for my answer, watching the dog tear after the ball. “She shouldn’t be alone with her new meds.”

“I’ll see. You know I stay away on weekends,” Staying home the whole weekend would mean questions I didn’t want to answer, demons I didn’t want to face, and a level of lucid I didn’t like, “If I can’t stay home, I’ll check in, make sure she’s okay.”

Briggs shook his head, sighing like a jackass. “Whatever.”

“I’m going for a run.” I ignored my pissed, disappointed brother and kissed Ma before I went out the front door, hitting the sidewalks at a light jog. I didn’t make it to the end of the block before I puked, again. My muscles ached before I even made it to the end of the road, but I pushed on. There was a day I ran in marathons, before I got sick of my fucked up life. Anymore, I was lucky to make it a mile before I collapsed.

When I turned toward Broadway, approaching traffic, I seriously considered running straight into it. Maybe I’d be lucky enough to make contact with a truck and then nothing else would matter. Somehow, the pills and alcohol hadn’t killed me yet, but a truck could take care of all my problems. Instead, I pushed past the pain and turned on to Broadway. Coming out near the top of the hill, I could see my destination at the bottom. The huge church at the bottom was about half a mile away, but towered above all other structures in the valley. It was always the half point of my run.

Every rumble of a semi from behind me had me fighting the urge to veer, just a little, and end it all. Briggs and Harriet had Ma covered, my car was paid off, the house was paid for. I wouldn’t be leaving anyone with any bills, or responsibility. Dying of an overdose would kill Ma, but a truck hitting me would look like an accident. I didn’t take that step off the sidewalk that I so desperately wanted to make. I pumped my legs harder, making it hurt.

I made it to Needles before I had to slow. My legs threatened to give out and my chest felt near collapse. Pushing so hard after the night I had wasn’t smart. I had no idea what I’d taken, washing it down with countless beers, and I wasn’t a kid anymore. I was asking for an early death like our father’s, but that’s who I was. Just like our father. At least I had the sense to not put a wife and kids into my fucked-up path. I kept my destruction to myself instead of pawning that kind of rage on innocent people. In that one way, I was better than William Layton. I dropped my hands to my knees right in front of the tattoo parlor and took a deep breath through the burn, trying not to puke again. I had nothing left to throw up, but my stomach lurched anyway. I took several deep breaths through my nose and my stomach settled. The rumble of yet another truck made me want to make a sharp turn into traffic, but a noise to my right had me scanning the tattoo shop. I expected a homeless person going through the trash, but what I saw was much different, and it put all thoughts of running and dying out of my head. I stood up, suddenly feeling sober, and walked toward Needles.