Unlovable (14 page)

I’ll tell him about the rumors Zack is
going to spread about me too, though the rest of the school will
think I’d slept with Zack. That might be a problem, but as long as
Seth knew the truth and believed it, I could live with
that.

I also realizing that I cared a little
too much about what Seth thought. It was why I treated him so
rudely yesterday. I’ve been trying to drive him away before I could
get hurt. How pathetic; I was falling for the most popular boy at
school, just like every other girl. Despite his flirting, he would
never really like me. Zack said it best, he could have any girl he
wanted, he certainly didn’t have to settle for trailer
trash.

I started jogging again, partly to
keep warm, mainly to forget what a silly fool I was. My house was
another four miles away, it was plenty of time to clear my mind. I
pulled the hood of my sweater up over most of my face in an effort
to keep the wind from whipping against my skin. It also made it
impossible to see that there was a person standing on the sidewalk
until I almost ran them down. I twisted to the side to avoid a
collision, and watched my book bag fly through the air.

“
I’m sorry. Are you
alright?” I picked up myself up and looked around to see if my poor
victim survived.

Seth! Was the entire
universe conspiring against me?

I noticed he had a fistful of mail in
his hand as he stepped toward me. “I’m fine. What are you doing
here, stalking me?” He smiled slightly. I could tell he was still
hurt by my bitter outburst yesterday. He helped me gather up the
spilled contents of my bag.

“
No! Ah—Zack and I had a
fight, and I decided to walk home. You live here?”

He nodded. I looked over at the
picturesque, two story, red brick house; it took my breath away.
There was a huge white wraparound porch adorning the front of the
house, along with two bay windows, one on the main floor, and one
coming off what I guessed to be an upstairs bedroom. A wooden
swing, begging to be sat in, hung from the ceiling of the porch,
with an antique watering can perched on one end. Connected to the
wrap-around porch was a vast wooden trellis with dozens of dormant
vines weaved liberally through the slats, promising a plethora of
flowers come spring.

There were several tall old trees in
the yard, each had to be eight feet around minimum, and they were
encircled by large dormant flowerbeds. Without a doubt, this yard
would rival any for its beauty in the spring and summer months. His
red Lexus was parked in the driveway near a well-worn basketball
standard.

I couldn’t imagine Seth living in a
more perfect house.

“
So, you and Zack got back
together?” His voice was cool. I pulled my eyes away from his house
and back to his hard stare. My mind instantly wandered back to the
kiss in the park and the almost kiss in the closet. I had to leave
and rein in my over-active hormones.

“
I can’t talk right now,
gotta go. See ya.”

“
Wait, I’ll give you a
ride.” He was being polite. I could see by his face that he didn’t
want to take me home.

“
Track try outs, remember?”
He didn’t say another word despite the fact he watched me until I
disappeared around the corner.

I should have apologized and debated
whether to go back before thinking better of it. I’d look
ridiculous after almost tackling him, or maybe I was making an
excuse because I was a sniveling coward? Probably the
latter.

My mother’s government check
came yesterday, and I stopped to buy some groceries. I found a
small ripped up bag of dog food in the
scratch and dent
section for a dollar
in case Fluffy came back.

With my arms loaded down with almost
more than I could carry, I continued home. When I arrived, I found
the trailer in a complete shambles. Sick and throwing up, my mom
had vomited everywhere except for in the toilet, causing the house
to reek of the vomit-alcohol mixture. I made up some chicken broth
and took it in to her as she lay semi-conscious across her bed.
“Mom, here, drink this.”

“
Go away, you stupid girl.
Do I look like I can eat right now?” she said, flinging her arms
around. I dropped back to keep her from spilling the
broth.

“
Mom, when was the last time
you ate? You’re probably hungry.”

“
I can take care of myself,
you arrogant brat! Get out of here!” I set the broth down on the
nightstand and left. Something hit the door as it closed; most
likely it was the broth.

After cleaning up the house, I sat at
the kitchen table for several hours doing homework, finishing at
midnight. Dressing for bed, I mulled over the options pressing me.
First and foremost, I had to forget about my feelings for Seth.
Falling in love with him was not an option. He also deserved to
know about Hillary and Zack. I recalled my berating insults to him
in the parking lot remembering what he had said about people using
him because he was popular and rich. Zack and Hillary were doing
exactly that. So consumed with myself, I never once considered
someone else might have problems too.

“
Tomorrow, I’ll try and
redeem myself and see just how unselfish I can be,” I muttered,
buttoning up my too small pajama top. “I’ll also find out if this
is nothing more than a guilty conscience, or if I truly want to
change.”

8

Bill and Alan

Bill bounced the basketball against
the wall of their small dilapidated living room, laughing when it
ricocheted wildly and collided with his brother’s head.

“
Knock it off, jerk, or I’ll
cut up your face!” Alan shoved his brother into a steel column that
supported the ceiling of the basement apartment. Bill reverberated,
landing in a heap on the filthy green carpet.

“
Hey, what’s buggin’ ya?”
Bill jumped up, rubbing his newly bruised shoulder before smoothing
his silky black shirt back into place.

“
I’m bored, that’s what’s
buggin’ me, and I’m hungry.” The police were out in force since
Alan murdered the co-ed. He didn’t dare wander around in public,
worried that someone from the park might ID him. “I wish I could
disguise myself like the old man does. He’s pure genius at it,”
Alan said with envy.

Bill knew the boredom was getting to
his brother. He watched Alan pull out his knife and lovingly caress
the blade before picking at his teeth with the tip. “Why don’t we
order some pizza?” he suggested, setting the basketball in the
closet and grabbing the newspaper. He was anxious to see if there
was any new information on Alan’s latest screw up.

“
I’m tired of pizza,” Alan
groaned. “I’m the son of a big shot drug smuggler. Harry Dreser’s
boy shouldn’t have to eat take out. I should be swimming in money,
eating fine food, and pawing beautiful young girls, not stuck in
this rat-infested dump!” Alan kicked an empty Gatorade bottle out
of his way as he slumped onto the couch.

Sadly, their father’s smuggling
business had run into hard times. First, and in Alan’s mind, most
importantly, their accountant had embezzled a large part of the
family’s fortune leaving them nearly broke. They had to sell three
of the four family homes to pay off their business associates or be
killed.

His father’s thriving business went
from 123 employees down to 7, 3 of which were family. To try to
recoup their losses, Harry had sent their brother Jeffery to
Upstate New York, specifically Syracuse, to work up some new
clientele. Their hometown in Arizona was saturated with drug
smugglers, and with the degrading embezzlement on everyone’s mind,
the dealers were going elsewhere to buy their stuff, fearing the
Dresers would abscond with their money.

Jeffery turned out to be a big
mistake, spending most of his time targeting elementary school
kids, claiming they’d be an easy mark. Oh, he built the business
alright, but it also sparked an outcry from the community like no
one had ever seen before. Someone ratted him out, probably a
disgruntled junkie, and, subsequently, Jeffery was murdered by a
couple of scum MET agents. His death threw the old man’s health
into a tailspin from which he still hadn’t recovered.

In the past, Bill and Alan
had been the
muscle
for the business, making sure debts were paid, and mouths were
kept shut. Harry didn’t think they had the brains to do much else.
Now with Jeffery gone, he had no choice but to send Bill to
Rochester in hopes of getting the family finances back on track.
Alan joined him in December after serving time in the local jail
for an
accidental
stabbing involving a fifteen year-old girl.

Alan loped over to the grimy basement
window and peered out. “Do you think Hoffman’s going to be able to
run things when we’re not here babysitting him?” Bill had been in
charge of training someone to take over the daily grind once things
were up and running, then they could move on to a new area in New
York.

Only he hadn’t done it, in fact, he’d
hardly done anything before Alan showed up. The old man was furious
and cut off most of their allowance until the job he’d sent them to
do was complete. If it weren’t for Alan, they never would have
found Hoffman. The guy was perfect for the job: eager, stupid, and
easily intimidated. He had an impressive list of clients too.
Mostly weed, but that was easily remedied. Getting a weed user to
try something new was rarely a challenge.

“
I don’t know. Hoffman’s
dumber than a stick.”

Up until Alan had arrived,
Bill’s idea of drumming up business meant slinking around in back
alleyways and bars. Back alleyways and bars were not places to
find
new
customers. Schools were. Dance clubs were. Any place young
people hung out. Alan should know, since December he’d been
focusing on the bedroom community of Port Fare and he'd increased
things three fold. He ran the list of new customers over in his
mind and smiled proudly. Apparently, the old man was wrong about
Alan.
Who’s the freakin’ screw-up now,
Pops?

Alan was the one who did all
the work, and it wasn’t easy, either. Upstate New York was cold,
very cold, moreover, there were cops everywhere, probably because
of the three overdoses last summer. That too was Bill’s fault. How
many times had Alan told him to mix more filler in the dope? Dad’s
stuff was strong and had a good reputation, but Bill never could
get the mixing ratios correct.
He
was the freakin’ screw-up, not Alan.

That being said, Alan was a
man of compulsions. Case in point, the other night at the park.
He’d become obsessed with the skinny young girl he saw wandering
around alone the moment he laid eyes on her. No surprise, he always
had a soft spot for
young and
pretty.
He knew instinctively she’d put up
a fight; he loved it when they did. When he closed his eyes, he
could almost hear her pleading. It made his neck hairs bristle in
excitement.

If her stupid boyfriend
hadn’t shown up, he would have had her. As it was, he had to settle
for a college girl. He hated college girls, way too old,
Alan thought, skimming his fingers along the
knife’s blade. It needed to be sharpened again. The little
adventure with the co-ed had dulled it somewhat.

“
Hey, check it out,” Bill
said, holding up the newspaper. “Saturday the town is having some
kind of festival. There’ll be lots of people around, and we’ll be
able to go out and mingle easier. Crowds are great for getting lost
in,” he said, hoping to distract his brother.

Bill was relieved to find there was
nothing new about the murder. He was tired of cleaning up Alan’s
messes. All his life he had to clean up after him. His brother was
rash, never thinking things through. Seldom did a plan work if Alan
had conceived it.

As children, Bill had to come up with
all kinds of schemes to get Alan out of trouble. He was the one who
forged Alan’s report cards so the old man didn’t know he’d failed
English and PE in eleventh grade. He was the one who came up with
the idea to plant the $50,000 in their sister’s room so she’d be
blamed for stealing it when in fact it was Alan. She got beat
pretty good for that one, the little brat.

When they grew older, Alan’s troubles
only grew in severity. Things like grand theft auto, assault and
battery, and armed robbery, to name a few. Bill was always there to
save the day.

But what Bill couldn’t control was his
brother’s fixation with knives, which was why Alan ended up
spending time in jail for hurting a fifteen year old girl with one.
Bill got a beating that day. Remembering the pain, his stomach
tightened.

Alan used to chop up small
animals as a teenager, making their father so angry he sent Alan to
work in a slaughterhouse when only 14-years-old. Harry had hoped
Alan would work out his obsession with the blade. Instead,
it
exacerbated the
problem
. Alan left there having refined his
skills instead of relinquishing them. It was a useful skill when
they had to teach a shifty dealer a lesson, Bill reasoned, but when
he used it to torture, and sometimes kill young girls, it was just
plain disgusting. Alan never raped them though, he’d just butcher
them up.