“Be quiet,” she’d told Caleb as she’d tied up her robe. “I don’t want you waking up her brother.” Then she’d turned back into her room, closed the door, and let Caleb drag me into my bedroom, gag me and tie me up, then rape me over and over again until every part of me died inside.
My soul died that night and I’m hoping that my body will soon follow because being here is just too hard… too painful.
I was about in tears when I’d finished reading it, but Violet had woken up and I forced myself to pull it together. But I noticed the date n the entry of the corner when I was shutting the notebook. Two days before Amy took her own life because she couldn’t deal with the idea of living anymore in the darkness that had taken over her mind.
It made me want to throw up. How could my mother do that to her own daughter? But the real f**ked up thing was that I wasn’t even as surprised as one might think and it makes me worry just how many ‘surprises’ are in store for me in the future.
Thankfully, through all of this, I managed to keep my shit together long enough to get me out of the house and away from Violet. I’d left the house, thinking things couldn’t possibly get worse, until my uncle Cole up and decided that he wanted to cheat too and without warning me. The bosses of The Warehouse caught on to what we were doing and I guess it wasn’t the first time it happened with Cole.
That’s when they come down and drag him toward the back room. I’m right in the middle of a winning hand and just like that, there’s all this commotion. Cole puts up a fight as two guys grab an arm and pull across the open warehouse. I’m getting to my feet, trying to figure out what to do, whether I should go after him. When a large, over weight guy with a thick neck, dressed head-to-toe in black comes up to me.
“Follow me,” he orders and when I hesitate adds, “It’ll be worse if you don’t.”
Grinding my teeth, I set the cards down on the table and follow the guy as he makes his way past the poker tables toward this back area hidden behind a steel wall. By the time I get there, the two guys that hauled my uncle off are beating the shit out of him, one holding him by the arms while the other rams their fist into his gut, face, arms—everywhere.
“Hey,” I start to protest when I’m shoved face first to the floor by a heavy set of hands and end up bashing my face on the concrete. The taste of blood fills my mouth and my jaw starts to throb as I go to push to my feet, but a foot comes down and holds me in place. They take my wallet out of my pocket, I’m sure to take all the cash I have in there. It’s not everything, but it’s enough that I’m in deep trouble. Not too mention all I won tonight is gone.
“And if you come back here again,” one of the guys says to Cole as he slams his fist right into his face. Blood spurts from his mouth and lands on the floor. “Greford won’t let you walk out of here.”
The foot moves from my back as they let go of my uncle and he falls to the floor, unable to even hold his head up. I push up and start to head to him, when one of the guys comes at me.
I shove him back roughly. “Don’t even f**king think about it. This has nothing to do with me.”
“Oh you think so,” the guy says snidely. He has this gnarly scar going down his eye and this sick look in his eyes as he wipes some of my uncle’s blood off his chin. “You come here with a cheater, you’re declared a cheater. Rules of the game.” Then he cranes his arm back and punches his fist into my jaw, right on the side that hit the concrete.
Instinctually, I react with a ram of my own fist, hitting him right in the side. It shocks him a little and then suddenly I’m being held back and the scar guys sucker punches me three or four more times before he lets me go.
My whole body hurts, but the pain is minimal to the reality of the situation. My uncle unconscious, no money, no way to pay Geraldson back.
“Now get your damn asses out of here,” Scar guy says and then spits on the floor in front of me before leaving with the other guys.
Stumbling to my feet, I stagger my way over to my uncle, bruised, beaten, and broken, ready to give up. When I roll him over, he looks dead—bloody, his face swollen, his nose a purplish blue. But then he opens his eyes and gives a cough. “Well, damn. That sucks.” No apology. No excuses. No nothing.
Annoyed and sore as hell, I help him to his feet and get him to the car. He gives me the keys, unable to drive with one of his eyes swollen shut and I hop in the driver’s seat and drive back toward the house, my mind racing a million miles a minute. Fuck, I’m f**ked. This is the thought that’s running over and over in my mind as I drive.
“Should I… should I maybe take you to the emergency room?” I finally ask, feeling my own body ache with the need to be treated.
He shakes his head, turning toward the window, mumbling, “There’s a warrant for my arrest and the last thing I want to do is get caught.”
“For what?” I ask, merging onto the freeway.
“That’s none of your business.” He rests his head on the window and stays silent for the rest of the drive.
After we get to the house, I help him inside and can’t help but think of my own future and wonder if this is where I’m headed. Twenty years old and I’ve already had my ass kicked more than I can remember for getting caught cheating. And now I have no money to payback Geraldson. I’m wondering if that’s how Cole was. From what I can remember, even when I was five years old and he would have been twenty, he was gambling, drinking, and fighting, the same way he is now.
By the time we stumble into the foyer it’s late, well past midnight. There’s a lamp on in the living room, but the rest of the house is dark, so I make my way in there, Cole’s arm around my shoulder as I bare most of his weight with my own battered body.
“Easy,” he mutters to me as I maneuver us down the step and through the doorway toward the sofa.
When we enter, Ryler, who’s sitting on the couch watching television, instantly looks over at us. He sets his beer down and doesn’t seem the least bit shocked at the sight of us, only annoyed at the sight of his father and the condition he’s in. Cole looks even worse than earlier. All of the places he was hit are now swollen up twice as bad as when we left The Warehouse. Ryler signs something short and simple, his movements clipped.
“Hey, you were the one who decided not to go tonight,” Cole gripes as he slowly lowers himself down onto the chair beside the sofa and slips his arm off my shoulder. “You know I do these things when you’re not around—I can’t help myself.”