Chapter 8
Dancer
I know I should have gone back to the club and answered Dragon’s page. That would have been the smart thing to do. These days it seems, I don’t do smart. Hell, if you looked back on my life, maybe I never have.
The truth is, I’m reeling. Reeling from the fact that a man I truly like and respect has feelings for Carrie. Fuck, I’m not an expert, but I think it could easily be said that he is in love with her. I don’t know how to react to that. I’ve always labeled Carrie off limits because she was fifteen years younger than me. Damn, Bull is older than I am, not by much, but still.
It is enough to fuck me up even more. I am already dealing with the taste of Carrie, the feeling of her in my arms, the eager way she ground against me, silently begging for more. I have wanted Carrie for years, dreamed of her, and wished I could have just one taste of her. The reality of it was more than I imagined.
It has only been an hour, but I already want to charge back and claim her, just from that one taste. I can’t. The minute she touched me, those damn memories came back. Her sweet voice demanding I take her wasn’t what I heard. It had been replaced by a darker voice.
My hand shakes as I bring the bottle up to my mouth. Fuck. I can’t stand to be touched. I can’t. I don’t allow the whores I’ve been fucking to touch me. I make sure their hands are busy with a friend or I take them from behind. I don’t want their hands anywhere on me. I got nervous when Carrie touched my head, but I managed to drown out the memories with her taste, but fuck, she grabbed me. She said words that were burned into my brain. I lost it. I never meant to hurt her and I know she thinks I did. I didn’t. Hell, as much as I want her I’m not sure I can ever allow myself to actually have her. I’m so tired of living like this.
If I hear one more time about how what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, I may scream. People who say that shit have never been so deep into a hole that they can’t find a way out. They’ve never sat by the window and prayed that the sun would hurry and go down because the night seemed safer. People didn’t move around so much in the nighttime, things weren’t done. The world was at rest. At night the fear that clenched around my heart and held on, eased up—never a lot, but enough so I could pretend to be normal on the outside.
You don’t go through shit and get stronger. That is a lie. You go through shit and lose parts of yourself. Whole fucking pieces, which leave holes so big, so mind-blowingly huge that for people to even say you’ll be stronger? It is complete and utter bullshit.
So that’s where I find myself tonight. Sitting in my car, perched on the edge of a dam. Letting the darkness surround me, letting it cover me and the only friend I have in the world. I look at the empty bottle in my hand. Well scratch that, just me. Seems I’ve drank the last of my friend.
If I were stronger, I would have driven off the edge of this concrete monster and sunk to the bottom of Laurel Lake. This is not the first time I’ve been here. It’s not the first time I’ve thought of ending it all, it’s more like the millionth time. This is something that I have faced every day since I stepped out of the doors of the Federal Prison in West Liberty.
It’s not something that ever leaves my brain. It’s always here. I’ll be driving down the road on my bike enjoying the feel of the cool air on my body when bam, a memory hits. A memory so dark it chokes me. Another vehicle, or even better a coal truck will go by and my hand shakes with the need to cut in front of it.
It would be deemed an accident. Everyone would write it off as if there was a vehicle malfunction or if I had fallen asleep…no one would know I was just another coward too tired to keep moving, too worn out to keep fighting against the current.
What has stopped me up to this point is fear. I am scared. Scared that I’d somehow fuck this up too. Somehow it wouldn’t kill me, I’d be stuck a vegetable and trapped with nothing but my memories for the rest of my life.
I lean back against the seat of the SUV I’m driving. How long have I been here now? An hour? Two? Time doesn’t really register when you’re this far down into hell and the Devil is calling your name. I keep seeing Carrie and her face when I pushed her away, when I hurt her. The fear, the pain and even worse than both of those, was the love. I could always see the love in her eyes. Even before she told me how she felt. It was fucked up that I wanted it, needed it. It was even more fucked up that I kept running away from it and every time I did, bad things happened.
It would be better for her if I wasn’t here. She’d be able to forget me and with the way my brother seems to care about her, they’d be happy. Bull would give her everything I wanted to, but couldn’t. She’d be happy. I want her happy. If I do this it’d give her peace.
I’ve tried blaming her for what happened to me. Truthfully there is no one to blame but myself. I did this. I did it all. Dragon is right. I should have kept my head. I knew better. Fuck, I should have never turned Carrie down to begin with. If I had held her, given her the kiss she wanted, kept her in my arms, then none of this would have happened. It’s all on me. I’m the maker of my own demons. I’m the sole party responsible. I can’t keep lashing out at her, at any one. At the same time, I can’t be the man I once was. That man is dead. He died that night in prison when he was held down and violated against his will. He is not me. Me? I’m just left over residue—the scum that’s left in the strainer when you let the water out of the sink.
I start the vehicle and stare over the water. Laurel Lake brings back so many good memories. Memories of when life was simpler, quieter and happier. Memories of when Jazz was alive and my days were spent watching over her and Carrie, memories of parties with my brothers and just being free.
It seems a good place to let it all go, to let it all just fade away. That’s the last thought I have before I release the park break, jam it into drive and lay on the gas.