Born Into Trouble (Occupy Yourself Book 1) (4 page)

Harddrive had handed him an old beat-up six-string one night when he was leaving the shop. In his gruff manner, he’d told Ben to, “Fuck around with that flattop a little, see if you like it.”

He had fucked around with it, learning what sounded good, and what didn’t. He’d even talked to the music teacher at school and got a chord chart then taught himself fingerings and patterns, listening to songs again and again, dissecting the sounds the guitars and drums made. Fucked around with it, and liked it. Liked how it made him feel, his blood heating when he got it right, feeling a rightness in his bones. Liked how it opened a door inside him, letting feelings and emotions pour out through his fingers. Liked how it felt in a way that made playing it as addicting as anything else.

With the one gift, something that probably cost the old man nothing, taken in trade on a bike or some shit, Harddrive had helped him stay straight. More than he would ever know, the man had impacted his life in so many ways. But, this one?
Profound
.

Part of fucking around with it was coming up with his own sounds, chords, which when played in sequence, pulled words from him. Painful as a horse foaling, but just as natural, things flowed sometimes, and the words strung together helped change the pain and anxiety inside him into something he could hand away. Danny was the only one outside of the folks at the shop who had heard him play. And his grandparents of course, but he tried to keep it to a dull roar inside their house, out of respect for them.

Without knowing anything of what he’d been through since she left town, Benita was calling his pleasure into question, and Ben sat straighter in the seat, coming to a decision.
One I should have made a year ago
. “Take me home.”

“Bad idea, Benny boy. Daddy’s there, and while he’s pissed at me, as you learned today, he will not hesitate to take it out on whoever is in his path.” She’d misunderstood him, and he set her straight right away.

“No, Benita.” At her name, she turned and glanced at him. “Take me to my house.”
I’m done with you
, the words danced on his tongue, wanting to escape.

“I rented a cabin.” She didn’t acknowledge his request, simply carried on with what she wanted.
Classic Benita
. “We’re going there. I’ve got groceries in the trunk; that’s what took me so long. Do you know you can’t find risotto in Enoch? I had to go all the way
back
to Cheyenne. Jesus.”

Distracted from his demands, he asked, stupefied, “You were in Enoch and then left to go grocery shopping in Cheyenne?”

“Well, yeah. I needed risotto.” She said this like it made any fucking sense in the world. “And I know a guy at a liquor store there. He gives me a discount.” A flirty grin was thrown his way. “He came through all the way. We’re going to party.”

“Take me home.” With a loud sigh, he twisted so he didn’t have to look at her, batting at her hand when it entered his field of vision. “You left me sitting in a police station while you went grocery shopping, knowing all you had to do was make a phone call. Un-flippin-believable. Take me home, Benita.”

“Benny.” Her voice softened, gentled, reminding him of the first Benita he met. Sweet and kind, she’d claimed to have a need to get to know the kid who had talent on the football field, and wanted to get past the stigma of his mother to know him. He’d believed her. Believed the sweet. Then she’d gotten a taste of his dick, and there had been an abrupt end to the sweet. “I want to spend time together. Just you and me. I’ve missed you. We haven’t had that for a long time.”
Gentle, sweet, saccharine lies
.

“No, we haven’t. Because the last dozen times you got my cock down your throat, you wanted it with a taste of your girlfriend’s pussy. Take me home.”
So done with you
.

She hated it when he was crude, and she showed that hadn’t changed, snapping, “Benjamin. There’s no need to be like that.”

“Take me home.” The stress of the day was fast catching up with him, knots of tension making themselves felt in his neck and back.
How many people know?

She turned the car, steering them onto a narrow road.

“Take me home.”
Is football still an option?

Carefully navigating between huge potholes, she said, “Nearly there.”

“Give me your phone, then. Let me make a call.”
Not Andy, please, God. I’ll call Danny
.

“Benny.” She shook her head. “Give me a minute.”

They rounded the last corner, and there were two cars already parked in front of the cabin. “Oh, hell no. Turn around. Take me home.”

“I’ll send them away,” she offered quickly, and this gave him a glimpse of how much she wanted his cock because she’d never given up time with her friends to spend it with him. They might start out the night alone, but in the end, she always brought in her girls.
She wants it bad. Gagging for it
. Feeling powerful for the first time in their weird relationship, he looked at her, trying to convey his disbelief in a look. She gave him wide eyes and a soft smile. “I will. Straight off. You stay in the car, and I’ll send them away. In my head, they’re already gone. I will.” He curled his lip, and she added, tender and sweet, “Promise, Benny.”
Maybe she’s changed
. She’d been away at college for a long time, nearly two semesters.

He stared as she parked, and without giving him time to say anything else, she exited the car and ran up the path to the cabin. True to her word, in less than five minutes, two of her clique came stalking out, talking animatedly to each other. Shelly and Hayley separated and got into their cars, driving off without even glancing over to where Ben sat.
She did it. Wonder what else she’d do tonight
.

Benita appeared on the small porch, the unshaded light shining down on her, casting unflattering shadows across her face. He popped the locks, opened the door and climbed out. Standing and stretching for a moment, Benita’s hungry eyes on him gave him confidence.
Anything
. Strolling across the small clearing, he paused at the bottom of the two steps leading up to where she stood. He deliberately pitched his voice low and quiet when he asked, “You hungry?”

The question seemed to puzzle her, and she made a small gesture back towards the cabin, the door opening into a flickering light. With a grin, he mounted the steps and wrapped an arm around her waist. “You said you had groceries in the trunk. Thought you might be”—he dipped his head, lips closer to her ear, feeling her shiver when he whispered—“hungry.”

It wasn’t until hours later he thought to call GeeMa, leaving a brief message on her phone.

18 years old

“Proud of you, Ben.” GeeMa’s hand wrapped around his upper arm, squeezing tightly. “Papa, get a picture of our boy.” Ben stood awkwardly, his hand resting on her shoulder with her arm threaded around his waist. The black fabric of the gown rustled in the ever-present Wyoming winds, cap held pressed to his side for safekeeping.

“Benny,” Danny called, and he lifted a hand, giving a half wave. “We did it, man.” Benny held out his hand, slapping against Danny’s palm and giving it a pump before pulling him in for a one-armed hug.

“We did.” Stepping back, he steadied GeeMa when someone jostled past her, rolling his eyes when he saw it was Benita. Watching her, he saw she stopped near a cluster of freshman band members, at the ceremony today to play the small school’s version of ‘Pomp and Circumstance.’ With a frown, he watched as she sidled up to a tall boy, pressing close, leaning into him in a way that screamed intimacy. Without taking his eyes from her, he asked GeeMa, “You and GeePa headed home? Drive safely.”

She answered in the affirmative, and in a moment, he knew they were gone because Danny leaned in. “She fuckin’ him?” Danny had clearly seen the same thing as Benny, and much as it curdled his stomach, he knew she probably was. “Jesus, he’s just fourteen. She’s fuckin’ a kid ten years younger than she is. Jesus, Benny. Why do you stay with her ass?”

“I don’t know,” he answered truthfully. “I just don’t know anything else. It’s always been Benny and Benita.” As he watched, Benita’s gaze came to him, and she smiled her wicked grin, the one that always preceded all the crazy, fucked-up shit she came up with. Shit he was never quite certain how to take because she made him feel good, and bad, all at the same time. She lifted one hand, pressed her fingertips to her crimson mouth, and then started to blow the kiss to him. She paused the movement, and raised her hand instead, letting the kid take it and bring it to his own mouth, his eyes meeting Benny’s over her head in a clear challenge. “Maybe it’s time to end the cycle.”

Turning, he cut his eyes to a gaggle of senior girls nearby, also still dressed in their caps and gowns, chatting and laughing quietly with their friends. “Laura?” A blonde head lifted, followed by the rest in unison and he had to fight back a grin. “Wanna get a bite to eat?”

“Fuck, man. You’re setting her up for shit.” Danny’s warning was quiet, and Benny gave a single headshake in response. “Incoming.”

“I have plans, Benny, thanks. Next time?” Laura Smithfield smiled at him as she spoke, then the expression smoothed away, and she turned back to her friends, who continued watching him over her shoulder. He knew why, and that was confirmed a second later by a hard slap to his shoulder.

“Benjamin.” Benita could clip his name out like it was a curse word. This always meant she was pissed. “
We
have plans.” She pressed something into his palm, and he looked down, seeing a small paper packet. “Slip one under your tongue, baby. Let’s go to our cabin.”

He hardly heard Danny’s goodbye, staring into Benita’s eyes as he worked one of the small pills from the wrapping. Lifting his hand, he offered it to Benita, not surprised when she shook her head. “All yours, baby. It’s your day. Celebrate.”

19 years old

Ben sighed and rolled his neck, pushing up on one elbow on the bed. Glancing around the room, there were the usual tangles of tossed clothing on the floor, an overflowing suitcase on the built-in dresser, and—
thank fuck
—his acoustic guitar case in the corner. Every day when he woke up, it was the first thing he looked for. Sober or drunk, so far, he’d always managed to keep the flattop nearby. Retrieved it from a pawnshop more than once before Danny finally realized it was much more than just an instrument for Benny.

Fabric rustled behind him, pulling his attention away, and he twisted his neck to see Benita stretched out behind him. A snore broke the silence of the room, and he glanced at the other bed, seeing, as expected, Danny sprawled corner to corner.
His relationship status should be sleeping in bed diagonally
, Ben thought with a grin. The man never seemed to hook up with anyone.

Blake Downey, their drummer, was another story. He had picked up a groupie tonight who had sprung for a separate room so she could screw him, or there’d be a body on the floor between the beds, too.

Ben and Danny started playing music together in high school. Starting out as a not-bad two-piece garage group called the Enoch Eunuchs, they’d imagined themselves masters of rock and roll. The summer of their junior year, they took their act on the road in Danny’s hand-me-down truck, working to get themselves booked into wherever they could. Before they graduated high school, they’d upgraded to a van Benita had scrounged from one of her dad’s dealerships in Cheyenne, which meant they were able to travel to more distant cities and play.

After graduation, they’d added Blake, and renamed the band, becoming Occupy Yourself. With four mouths to feed, and one van to keep in gas, Benny and Danny focused on the music, bringing Blake into the fold as needed, while Benita worked at developing a network of venues they could depend on for a good payday. So far, it was working, and Benny felt like things were finally starting to fall into place.

The previous night they’d played a decent bar in Idaho Falls. A medium sized room, but with a rowdy crowd that didn’t mind tipping. So in addition to their share of the door, the bills dropped in the tip jar meant they had enough cash to get a motel room for a change. Real rest, a hot shower, and a soft mattress on which to stretch out.

Easing out of bed, Ben pulled on shorts and a tee, then laced up his running shoes before snagging one of the room keys and heading out. Pounding the streets was something he found enjoyable, something he'd picked up while still in high school. It was a way to cope with how everything had fallen apart. There had been no promise of a football scholarship to take him away from Enoch; all through his junior and senior years, he’d been too busy partying with Benita to play with any focus.

The scourge of high school was behind him now, but like Andy had discovered, Benny realized there weren’t any jobs in Enoch. While Owens owned half of town, he refused to hire Benny for anything. This meant Harddrive and the music were the only two good constants in his life. He kept trying to hold those together, though some days it felt like a losing battle. The feeling of euphoria at the end of a run was exactly what was needed to help him push past everything else. For hours, the energy and endorphins would feed him in a good way, letting him ride high, like the wave of adrenaline from playing an exceptionally good set at a gig.

This was the third time he’d tried to dry out and stop drinking. Nineteen years old, and he knew he was a full-blown alcoholic. In the past five years, he had burned through relationships with family and friends, much like his mother had. Backing himself into a corner, again and again, always coming out on the losing end, watching as friend after friend fell away. Benita and Danny had stuck with him, at least.

The first blackout he'd had was at fourteen, the night of Benita’s senior prom. That first episode of not remembering anything, just vague flashes of faces leaving him feeling so out of control it was like skating on the river before the frigid weather set in. The edges might be stable enough underneath your blades, but if you strayed an inch beyond that surface, the results could be devastating. That blackout was like the first ringing crack of the ice, lapsing into silence, the threat going unrecognized at the time.

He'd woke the next morning, tangled in a jumble of bodies. Sticky limbs draped over him and one girl’s hand still wrapped around his flaccid penis. Looking around in disbelief, he'd tried to track which body parts belonged to who, giving up after a few seconds as impossible. Carefully untangling himself from the pile of people, Ben had made his way to the bathroom. Looking down to see something crusted on his belly, he'd hesitated only a moment before crawling into the bathtub.
Gross
.

The chilly porcelain had felt good against his head. So good, that slowly taking the thought to its next logical conclusion, he'd eventually reached and turned on the shower, setting the water as cold as it would go and sat there with it streaming around him. Shivering violently, he'd tried to reconstruct the evening even as he'd retched and spat, seeing a thin drool of yellow bile hit the bathtub between his feet. Diluted by the running water, he'd watched it circle the drain, eventually passing down and out of sight. Ben stayed in that position, hunched over his legs, the cold seeping into his bones, so lost in trying to figure out what had happened that he'd shouted in surprise when someone had pounded on the door.

“Gotta pee.”

“Gimme a minute.” Water off, he'd grabbed a towel from the closet and wrapped it around his waist. Unlocking the door, one of the senior guys leaned against the wall, looking about as sick as Ben felt.

“Good party.” Naked, the guy pushed past him, and Ben had turned to watch him weave towards the toilet.
Jesus
.

He'd left the wrinkled and ripped tux on the floor of Benita’s bedroom, finding one of his T-shirts she’d confiscated weeks earlier. Looking around, he'd rifled through various after-prom bags to find a pair of jeans which had fit well enough to wear.

All he'd been able to think about was getting away. Away from the press of bodies. Away from the stench of his vomit in the shower. Stuck with the feel of day-old booze in his belly, he'd left the house, picked a random direction and took off, walking. After making it about ten miles, he'd stuck his thumb out once more and finally got a ride. Ben had swung over the tailgate of the pickup and settled in the back. Caring less about their destination than escaping, he'd shrugged his agreement when the driver leaned out the window to tell him they were headed down to the stockyards in Cheyenne.

Ben had leaned against the cab, crossed his ankles and closed his eyes, wanting…trying desperately to turn off his mind. Unable to control his thoughts, they compulsively circled back around the edges of the places he couldn’t remember. Blurred images in his head, each of them a taunting fragment of what might be a memory cycling past in rapid succession, overwhelming him. Faces, so many faces, with mouths open in a shout or a groan. Anonymous hands on his chest, fondling his dick, intimate moments shared with nameless strangers.

Gravel pinged off the wheel wells as the truck pulled off the shoulder and back onto the road. The vehicle had then gained speed, and only then had Ben slowly relaxed, spending the next hour zoning out to the mindless droning sound of the tires on the road.

Traffic noise on the outskirts of Cheyenne recaptured his attention, and he'd lifted his head in time to see a motorcycle dealership flash past. Impulsively, he'd pounded on the glass behind the driver’s head, frantically signaling to the shoulder. Five minutes later, Ben had stood in the dealership’s front lot, looking through the window at the motorcycles. Andy had taught him how to ride a dirt bike years ago, and he'd dazedly wondered if it would be the same feeling of freedom to ride a real motorcycle.

A form moved through the store, a young woman. She'd paused and stared out the window at him curiously. Making her way to the door, she’d pushed it open a few inches and tipping her head to one side, looked him up and down. He knew she was taking in his bare feet, too-big jeans, and worn-thin shirt. “Need a hot meal, honey?” Holding the door open, she'd gestured with one hand. “Come on inside, let’s get you fed and warmed up.”

She had apparently taken him for a homeless person, and Ben didn’t bother to correct her mistake because the honest to God truth was he had needed a meal. Anything he might have ingested yesterday had already come up, and hardly any of that had been solid. Anxious about Andy leaving, he’d been unable to eat the goodbye breakfast GeeMa had fixed that morning. Then the punch at the prom had been so spiked, after a single cup, he’d been far more interested in wrangling more of the drink than hitting the sandwich table. Later, after the dance was over, and after pouring himself into Benita’s car in the parking lot, her hand on his dick, there hadn’t been any thought of food at all.

The woman, Lauren, led the way up a single flight of stairs to an office area over the showroom floor, seating him at a table while she busied herself in the kitchen. Sitting quietly, he'd listened to her talk about her husband and father-in-law, partners in a multi-location motorcycle sales and service business. She'd had so much pride in the people she loved, and it shone through her every word.
I’d give a lot to hear someone talk about me like that.
He shook his head.
Yeah, like that’ll happen. Such a loser
.

Lauren had kept up the conversation singlehandedly, requiring only minimal input from him to keep things flowing. She'd taken a moment to serve him tomato juice with a splash of hot sauce while she cooked, making him wince at the memories invoked.

Seated across from him, a small grin on her face, she'd watched as he took a first, tentative bite of the sandwich set in front of him. That grin grew to a broad smile when he'd given her a thumbs-up, enthusiastically eating every crumb of what may have been the best fried egg sandwich he’d ever had. His sole contribution to the talk had lit up her face, too, when he'd offered her a quiet, heartfelt, “Thank you.” The simple words all he could think of in response to her kindness and generosity.

Once certain the sandwich was going to cooperate with his stomach, Ben had followed her out to the back of the building where she'd introduced him to her husband, Barry, and his dad, an older man weirdly named Harddrive. Effortlessly, the group made room for him in their day as if he were a fixture in their lives all the time. To him, it was a continuation of the entire day feeling surreal, like there was a haze over everything, making the impossible possible.

As if he belonged there, Ben had sat on top of a workbench, dipping a rag into a bucket of solvent and acting as if he'd known how to clean the parts Harddrive brought him. Lunch had come and gone, Ben again seated at the table upstairs, this time listening with a grin as Lauren and Barry good-naturedly argued about the best way to boil eggs, of all things. Surreal.

Six o’clock saw the doors locked and Ben’s ass in the front seat of Harddrive’s truck, the old man smiling as he'd asked, “Where to, son?” When Ben had recited GeeMa’s address, the man had looked at him strangely. His voice gentle when he'd asked, “Enoch, huh? You know Andy? Andy Jones?”

Ben had smiled when he'd responded, “Well, yeah! He’s my big brother.”

“No shit?” Shaking his head in what looked like incredulity, Harddrive had put the truck in gear and pulled out. With a bag of fast food sitting on the bench seat between them, they'd motored out of town in a comfortable silence broken only by the old man asking for one of the sandwiches, then urging Ben to eat the rest. That soothing quiet lasted until they'd sat along the curb in front of his grandparents’ house, listening to the last growl of the truck’s engine die away.

Ben had turned to thank Harddrive only to meet an intent stare. His mouth, opened to offer his gratitude, snapped shut when the old man had started talking. “Few people get dealt fair hands in life. I know your brother, so I know all about the shit hand you got dealt. I also know your shit just got yards worse with him leaving town.” Ben had wondered how Harddrive knew this, and then belatedly put two-and-two together, realizing Andy had probably bought his bike from Harddrive’s shop.

“Andy didn’t share a lot, but I did me some pokin’ around. I’m old; I can do what the fuck I want, so I did. People look at me, see a harmless old man, they’ll talk to me. Found me some people, they talked. Didn’t like what I found out, dug a little deeper, tried to sort things as best I could for Andy. But Ben, I’m still going to do what I want, and that want right now is me needin’ to make sure you’re good when you plant a foot outside my truck.” The stare had intensified, and Ben had felt it raking through his head, stirring up the things he’d been able to put to bed for the day. Benita. The drinking. The drugs he knew he’d been given the previous night. The women she'd brought to him when he'd been so plastered that saying no hadn't been a real option.

Andy leaving. Their mom and all her problems. The fact that even after a decade of living with them, he still felt like an overnight guest in his grandparents’ house.

Feeling alone. His dad dying, the only real memories left of him tied up in Andy making sure everything was okay. All his life, Andy’d been there, making sure things were good, even when they were total and absolute shit.
Until now.

All alone. Nearly a decade of feeling alone, since he was five and standing on the raw dirt surrounding a hole in the ground, knowing life would never be the same.