Rotten (3 page)

“Sit up; we need to take off your shirt.”

His nails scraped along my sides, jarring me out of the dream. Taking in his deep brown eyes, I scrambled to press my body into the headboard.

“What are you doing? How did I get here?” Looking around the simple room, fear gripped my heart. “What did you do to me?” My half-naked body laid on top of the king- sized bed.

His eyes grew large and he leaned towards me to explain. “No, no, it’s not what you think. You passed out at the hospital and had to leave. I brought you here.” His explanation did not bring me much comfort.

“You hate me – why would you do that?”

I could see the pain in his eyes as more tears pushed out of mine. Pulling the sheet over me to cover my body, my vulnerability was more than physical. His head dropped down and his eyes closed.

“I run the club now. Your dad has been sick for a while. He didn’t want you to worry.”

Growing defensive, the words came out unrestrained. “Well, I am fucking worried. My dad might die, and I am a horrible piece of shit kid who left him the first chance I got. What do you know about what my daddy thinks of me?”

Getting up, I started to look for my clothes and luggage.

“Where is my stuff? I want to leave. Call me a cab; I don’t care.”

“Toni, it’s three in the morning – you’re not leaving. I can take you to a hotel later. Just sleep. I am sure you had a long flight and are tired. I won’t bother you, I promise.”

He seemed sincere, yet I hated the thought of sleeping in this bed. Lord knows how many notches were cut into the headboard.

“What’s wrong with the house? Why didn’t you take me there?”

He hesitated before answering me quietly. There were no tones of accusation, just explanation.

“Things have changed, Toni, since you left. A few of us try to do the best we can to help out, but we can only do so much. Once you skipped town, he grew different… stopped caring as much. The house is a wreck; it ain’t fit for anyone.”

My stomach dropped, envisioning my childhood home in shambles. It was no palace, but it had once been comfortable and kept tidy. Falling into disarray seemed impossible, knowing my father. If David’s house was any indication of his standards of housekeeping, it must be bad.

“I can sleep on the couch. Take your bed back – I don’t want it.”

Opening the door, I walked across the hardwood floor into the dimly lit living room of the small house. A large leather sofa sat against the wall in front of a big-screened television. Still clinging to the sheet, I pulled it tight around my body and stared at the cushions. This trip went from worse to straight hellish. David Stark was the last face I wanted to see while back here, yet here it was. I imagined the sticky residue of the women he banged on this couch and grew nauseous.

Taking a pillow, I slid onto the wooden floor and closed my eyes against the glow of the TV. It could always be worse.
Basic needs
. I was safe, near my dad and would be in a hotel soon. What were a few hours on a cold floor?

“Why are you down there?” he scolded.

“I don’t want to touch anything you have had sex on. I hope you at least mop your floor once in a while.”

Without a word he walked back into the bedroom and slammed the door, leaving me alone. I wanted my dad. I wanted everything to be okay. Too bad you can’t always get what you want.

I could hear and feel the dirt crackling against the wooden floor under my body weight. The soft, cotton barrier was not enough to buffer the miniscule fragments from poking through. The floor was filthy. As I stood up to shake the debris from the sheet, the couch suddenly became more appealing.
I will not cry, I will not cry.
Digging into my purse, I retrieved the rosary my grandfather had carried with him in World War II. My daddy wasn’t the least bit religious, so he thought I might want it because it was pretty.

“Hail Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.”

Holding each bead between my fingers, I repeated the prayer three times before stopping on the worn silver connection piece depicting Mary. This woman truly endured hell, shame, and heartache. I wondered if she ever said, “Why in the world did you pick me? You have got to be kidding, no thank you.” She was destined for a lifetime of hardship, but she was told why. I knew Jesus asked to pass on his duties, but what really happened when the angel came to Mary to foretell her future? If an angel came to me, I would probably shit in my pants.

The wandering inner monologue sufficiently distracted me enough to slip into that place between dreaming and awake, yet not for long. Slivers of bright light began to break through the vertical blinds covering the sliding glass doors on the other side of the room.
Damned internal clock.

I fumbled into the kitchen, hoping for some stale grounds for a crappy cup of coffee at minimum. As I reached into the cupboard, a metal tin gleamed teasingly at me from above. Before it even slid to the end of the shelf, the lack of contents was already apparent.

“Why the fuck would you keep an empty coffee tin in a cupboard. It’s like a cock tease, but worse.”

Turning around to crawl back on the couch, I slammed into the bare chest that had snuck up silently behind me. Swiftly grabbing my shoulders to keep from falling, he pulled me tightly into his arms.

“If coffee is more important to you than dick, that must be some damn good coffee.”

I pushed against him with the palms of my hands until he freed me with a taunting chuckle. “Dick is a little overrated; coffee, however, will never lose its status among things that make life worth living. I can function without dick; coffee is a whole other beast.”

David moved past me into the freezer that looked empty except for a few bottles of clear liquor and a brand new bag of roasted coffee beans. Walking over to another cupboard, he pulled down a small grinder and glass coffee press. Raising an eyebrow at the curious items in his hands, I breathed a deep sigh of relief.

“Damn, woman, you weren’t kidding. It’s like I am holding a Prada purse or something.”

That finally drew a smirk out of me. I watched him effortlessly grind the beans to a perfect consistency and boil the filtered water in a teakettle on the stove. It wasn’t his first time doing this. Wondering if it was an impressive move he used to show his overnight guest, I had to admit it worked on me. The steaming liquid drew lustful noises from deep within my throat. I moaned in pleasure a little more than necessary, just to irritate the crap out of him.

“Talk about cock teasing. Just listening to you with that cup is making me hard.”

Our banter had grown old quickly. He wasn’t allowed to joke with me like that. Not anymore. He lost that privilege the moment he decided to sleep with me and then pretend I didn’t exist.

“Good, you deserve to be uncomfortable.”

Standing up, I set the mug next to the crowded sink of dirty dishes and picked up my bags while walking to the door.

“Can you take me into town to get some cleaning supplies, and then drop me off at the house? I can drive his truck from there on out. I won’t burden you anymore.”

He remained at the small table and finished his coffee unhurriedly. I wasn’t on city time anymore. Watches didn’t exist in these parts. The angle of the sun gave way to where a person needed to be, if they needed to be anywhere. The heat made people a little lazy in order to conserve energy; that is why they all came out at night.

In spite of my anger, I couldn’t deny the warmth forming between my thighs in between glances at his broad chest and deep cut muscles. I cursed myself and my body for even thinking such thoughts. This was just another cruel joke that I was the butt of. When he rose and walked into his bedroom, I could see every curve in his back and arms that once lifted me against the wall and seared an encounter no man could ever challenge.
Asshole.

I wasn’t surprised to see a shiny new Mustang sitting in his garage. Even in high school he favored the model, this GT being a whole lot nicer than the clunker he fixed up then. Part of me wanted to open the glove box to see if a stash of condoms would fall to my feet. Perhaps I was being a little unfair to him. Words hadn’t been exchanged between us for over a decade. However, I followed his career closely. The internet has probably been the most dangerous tool to fall into a scorned woman’s hands. David Stark was picked up fresh out of high school to play college hockey in Canada. For a boy from the desert, he was a natural on ice.

My daddy used to pick us up from school and drive him to practice three times a week. I would sit in the rafters and do my homework while he ran through his drills. He went pro, but his rowdy nature got the best of him. Constantly getting tangled in trouble, it was only a matter of time before nobody would sign him.

“How long have you been back in Sloan?”

His hands tightened on the steering wheel and flexed before he answered.

“Two years, give or take. I tried going back to Canada, but without a team, it didn’t work out. You know I played for the Penguins and the Avalanche, right? A few others.”

Both pain and pride came over his being. Between the smoking and partying, he grew that rough exterior of someone who had aged far too quickly. How he managed to stay in that kind of shape was beyond me. His muscles must have one hell of a memory.

“Yeah, I Google stalked you occasionally. Whenever I had a bad day, it always made me remember it could be worse. Never failed to cheer me up.”

His jaw clenched; he knew I was going for blood. We traveled through the outskirts of Las Vegas to a large grocery store. I asked him to come in with me so I knew everything I needed to get. Not anticipating the roach and mousetraps, fumigants, multiple boxes of trash bags, rubber gloves, masks and bleach, I could have started my own cleaning business by the time he was finished filling the grocery cart.

“Am I going to clean out a house or a meth lab?”

Something told me I wasn’t prepared for what I was going to walk into. I knew not much more could fit in his car, yet he insisted on bringing some of the boxes they had in the back.

“Are you hungry? Can I buy us lunch? I know you have stuff you probably need to get to.” I wasn’t expecting him to say yes; I just thought it a courtesy.
Honor thy father.
If he was taking care of my daddy, the least I could do was try to be nice – not for him, but the brownie points I needed from God.

We grabbed a few burgers to go and headed back towards the house. My heart started to sink as he turned into the driveway. The small, adobe home was falling apart. Deep cracks ran along the walls, and it was poorly patched and unpainted. A few rusted cars sat in the yard along with some meaningless, random items. Out here, people didn’t lock their homes; there was no need to. So I didn’t need a key. I got out of the car and braced myself on the door, taking it all in.

Without me here, he stopped caring. Years of neglect were evident everywhere. The thought of my daddy coming home every night to this stabbed deep in my gut. It wasn’t paradise, but now it was like a carcass left rotting in the sun. As I moved slowly up the brittle, wooden steps, the door creaked like in a horror flick. My presence stirred up a small cloud of dust that colored the streams of sunshine peeking in the windows. Expecting a horrid smell, I was surprised there was only the odor of abandonment. Stacks of magazines, beer cans and dirty laundry littered the living room. The furniture was severely stained and worn down. Tables and picture frames carried a thick layer of dust, including the one resting on the mantel. Using my hand, I gently swiped at the taupe powder, uncovering the happy image of a little girl and her father.

I carried it with me through my slow tour of the past. The house needed many repairs – there was no getting around it – but it was salvageable. Tears rolled down my face with greater urgency in every room I explored. Stopping at the room that used to be mine, I was almost afraid to open the door. I turned the knob, but the door did not give. A few swift kicks to the bottom jarred it from its frame. Blackout shades darkened much of the room, but I was able to see one thing. He never touched it. It remained as if I never left and he was waiting for me to return.

Dropping to my knees, dust billowed all around. I felt like Scrooge in
A Christmas Carol
. However, this was my present, and I wished more than anything that I was just dreaming. Guilt and anger burst through my veins. Banging my fist against the walls, I could feel the knuckles bruising and tearing open.

“Damn it, God, why!” Over and over again I cursed my creator. David grabbed me and held me down as I screamed. Caged in his arms, I fought until there was nothing else left. He picked me up once again and cradled me close. Walking outside to a shaded area beneath the large willow acacia, he rocked back and forth in silence.

“You don’t have to do this today; I will help you. I can probably get some others to as well.”

Shaking my head, I sat up and walked to his car and popped the trunk. Carrying the supplies to the front porch, I then called a service to bring a large dumpster over as quickly as possible. After hanging up the phone, I reached out my hand to shake his.