Christ, I need to sleep. It’s been a while since I last managed a couple of hours in a night. I’ll force it on myself, since nothing else works. Everything, anything to forget the past. To forget Cole’s little mournful face as I walked out this morning, Mary’s wail.
By the time I push back to my feet and splash my face at the sink, then make my way to the kid’s bedroom, the brats are two lumps under their covers, pretending to be asleep.
Like every night.
They won’t let me tuck them in.
“Good night,” I whisper, not sure they hear me. I stare at them a bit longer, remembering when I first held them in my arms, tiny, squirming bundles of energy and life.
My kids.
Switching off the light, I turn around and walk out to the kitchen. I leave the lights off. By touch I find the sleeping pills and swallow two with a gulp of water.
Resist the urge to take more. All of them.
Then I head into the living room and sink down on the sofa, turn on the TV and stare at it without seeing anything.
At some point, I’ll fall asleep. There’s no escape. And I know the nightmares are waiting for me.
The coffee is stale and toxic, like nuclear waste, burning my mouth. Across the sky dawn is breaking in red and yellow.
At long fucking last.
Dressed only in my sweatpants and a thin T-shirt, I’m standing on the porch, a mug in my hand I don’t remember getting from the kitchen, and a bitter fog in my lungs.
I’m on my last smoke. My last inhale.
My head is full of swirling darkness.
And then I look down at the steps leading to the yard, remembering that girl—yesterday, was it only yesterday?—the wannabe nanny, all star-eyed innocence, her mouth sinfully full, her small tits and slender body, her dark hair—and my body tightens with a pang of arousal.
With a curse, I head back inside and hunt for the bottle of booze under the kitchen sink, sparing a single thought to whether the kids might discover it in that not so well-thought hiding place, and Christ, I’m drinking before going to work, dammit—then I replace the coffee with pure Scotch and wash the night down.
Taking a deep drag from my cig, I lean against the sink with a groan. I’m a mess. I can’t take care of the kids. What was I thinking?
Leaving. That was what I was thinking. All I could think of at some point.
Not having to put up with the questions and the concern anymore. Not having to hide from everyone who watched, waiting for me to fall apart.
But I didn’t. Not as far as they could see.
It was a no-win situation. If I fell apart, I wasn’t a real man. If I didn’t, well… I had a heart of stone.
I thump my chest once, softly, with my fist. Maybe it has turned to fucking stone. God knows it feels that way. Cold. Heavy.
Unfeeling.
Maybe it was the only way.
In any case…. yeah, I had to leave, and take kids with me. Leaving them behind wasn’t an option.
Even if they hate me.
Maybe I should have left them. Maybe they’d have been happier without me. Not like they’d miss me. Maybe…
Yeah, whatever. It’s done, now. We’re here.
And I need to get my head on straight before it’s too late.
Chapter Four
Octavia
“There are other jobs out there,” Gigi says when she finds out about my failed attempt to talk to Matt Hansen.
But she’s still in school and hasn’t really looked for herself, apart from small summertime jobs such as selling tickets at the drive-in movie theater out of town and the occasional festival. If we lived in Springfield, or close to it, maybe, but here…
Here we’re in the middle of nowhere. Besides, I need something better than minimum wage. I need a steady job, a good-paying job, to pay those debts off, debts accumulated at a time Merc was sick and Mom had to take out some loans to keep us afloat, what with having no family to support her.
Pay the debts, and go off to college, so that I can return and take proper care of my family. That’s my dream.
Hey, I’m not giving up on that.
So I’m officially on a job hunt. I’ve already asked at the few shops on the main street if they’re looking for help, but so far, all I got in way of answers was heads shaking in the negative.
Nothing.
Not that I’m surprised. There’s a reason I banged on Matthew Hansen’s door and insisted to be interviewed. Although embarrassing myself in front of his neighbors made no frigging difference.
I’m not qualified for anything much, not yet. I’ve worked in a store before, so that counts, but without any job openings in the few stores of the town it’s useless.
And like I told Tall, Dark and Jerk, I know how to handle kids, how to care for them. I just love kids. I’ve thought about studying to become a kindergarten teacher. That would be awesome.
But that’s in the future. For now, the dream seems so distant. No matter how many ads I’ve gone over, how many houses I called, the few requests for nannies that were advertised have all been filled, and I’m running out of options.
I lick my dry lips, too hot in my dark pants and soft gray blouse, my feet killing me even in my conservative low heels as I make one more round, the same I made yesterday and the day before.
The round of desperation.
I visit the grocery store, the ice cream shop, the small hardware shop, the bank, the dentist and the two diners. I ask at the second-hand store, the gas station, and the old pizza place where Mom works. Then I enter the new coffee shop with its shiny brand new white tables and steel chairs and ask once more.
Nope. Nada.
My dream of escape dwindles on the horizon. A mirage. It was never real, never going to happen.
Unless… unless I pack my bags and leave town, penniless and desperate. Go to the big city and take my chances there.
Leave Mom, and Gigi, and Merc behind.
Not forever, I tell myself as a vise tightens around my heart. Just for a while, until I find a job and save some money. And then I’ll go to college and return with a good salary to take care of them all.
This has been my dream ever since I can remember.
And what kind of job would an educated person find here?
That’s the question I’ve been avoiding.
That, and the thought of the years between now and then, and of how badly leaving my family behind will hurt. We’re so close. My dad leaving only served to bring us closer, and going away will be like sawing off a limb.
Shaking my head, trying to dislodge the thought like every time it surfaces, I stop in front of the drugstore.
“Whatcha doing here, Zipper Lips?” The witty one is Anthony “Stone” Campbell, who’s lounging outside the coffee shop across the street, his lips pulled into a sneer.
He may have grown up from the skinny, stinky kid in my class into a tall, less stinky guy, but he never lost his obnoxiousness. Looks like you can’t outgrow mean, or stupid.
Ignoring him with the ease of long practice, I step inside the drugstore, not even sure I want to ask yet again about a job. I already know there isn’t an opening.
Maybe I’ll just buy some painkillers. My head hurts from the heat I’ve been trudging through all day.