Total Trainwreck (11 page)

“Carly, nothing that happened to you was your fault. You know that, right?” He stands, walking to the far side of the room, giving me space to vent. Everyone loves to tell me it’s not my fault. Like it’s some big
Eureka!
moment I haven’t had yet. Bullshit. I’ve been in rehab and therapy long enough to come to that conclusion on my own. I realize what an asshole my father was for doing what he did. I damn sure wasn’t the one shooting heroin into his veins. That’s on him. Fair enough.

But what no one can ever tell me is how to erase the hurt I’ve spent a lifetime running from. The worthlessness only a father choosing drugs over protecting his only daughter creates. Because that’s the bitch of this situation. Being born my father’s daughter is nothing but bad fucking luck. Forgetting the happiness he stole and the nightmare he left in its place is a mountain I’m still climbing, barefoot in knee-deep snow. And for every sober step forward, I slide two back. The only answer I’ve ever found is making those snow-covered mountains disappear up my nose. That’s not an option anymore.

Normally, this is where I put on my gloves and prepare to fight. People don’t get to this level of me, ever. But I don’t. That easy anger that used to fuel my verbal swings is gone. Fighting Devon isn’t what I want. More than anything, I want to see understanding in his eyes and feel his comforting embrace telling me it’s going to be okay.

Trouble is, I’m not sure how I get to that. I’m not sure about any of this. I stare at the wall, wrestling with what to do in a familiar situation that is suddenly so totally foreign. I’ve never talked about this with someone I trusted, let alone loved. Devon is right—he needs to know my truth if we’re ever going to have a real chance. I realize it’s not that I mind him knowing—a growing part of me wants him to. It’s that I don’t know how to admit the secret I’ve spent a lifetime hiding. I look back to him, clenching my teeth to keep my chin from trembling.

His gaze lingers in a way that breaks me. Knocks me right off my feet. I expect him to stare into my eyes like those judging sponsors at AA meetings and therapists always do. Like they’re waiting to hear the dirtiest secrets I’ve got so they can feel better, safer in their own beige world. But that’s not at all what I see in his eyes. All I see is love.

Giving up the fight, I fall to the floor and sit cross-legged, reaching for a cigarette in a nearby drawer. He says nothing when I light it, still watching me but not making me feel like a case study. I slide back on my bottom to lean against the wall, crook my legs and rest my arms on my knees. Cigarette smoke rises into the air in a single white stream, calling to mind a forgotten childhood memory.

“My dad took me to Venice Beach once. I wanted to ride a Ferris wheel and in one of his rare sober moments he agreed to take me.” I take a drag from my cigarette and grab the wineglass to ash in. “That week on set, I told everybody my dad was taking me to the fair. They couldn’t shut me up. Saturday came and I put on my best dress. Mom curled my hair and tied a ribbon in it. I even drew him a picture of us on the Ferris wheel.” I laugh at how sweet and innocent I used to be. “I waited all morning for him to come,” I say, and then go silent. Tears drown my lids and I stare at nothing.

“He never showed?” Devon asks from where he leans against a chest of drawers. I snap back to my story.

“No, he came. Four hours late. He and Mom got into it. I begged her to let me go. And she did. He didn’t talk on the car ride, but I babbled away. I remember his jaw kept clenching and releasing like he was chewing gum.” I’ll never forget that ride, the way he gripped the steering wheel, chain-smoking with the windows up until he filled the car with a noxious cloud. He slung his Corvette around curves on two wheels. I was terrified. But I said nothing. I was afraid to. Afraid he’d take me home.

“Did you get to ride the Ferris wheel?” Devon asks, breaking me from my silence.

“Yeah, I did.” A broad smile pulls my lips apart. “We probably rode it ten times, until I got hungry. It was dark by then. He bought me a hot dog, sat me on a bench and told me he’d be right back.” Silence fills the room again. The memory of that night lingers clear as a bell in my mind. My dress was beautiful, frilly and pink, but way too thin for the evening breeze coming off the ocean. I sat there, shaking, holding myself to try to stay warm. “I’m not sure how long I sat on that bench. I was freezing, but Daddy had told me to stay right there.”

“Weren’t you scared all by yourself?” I look at him when his voice ticks up with concern and shake my head.

“No, I was afraid of making him mad. I sat right there until I fell asleep.”

“He left you?” Devon asks, horror hollowing his voice.

I nod.

“What happened?”

“A policeman woke me up and took me home.” I dismiss the memory with a head shake and focus on my hands. “You know, awful as the night ended, riding that Ferris wheel is the best memory I have with my dad. That sucks, huh?”

Devon shrugs off the dresser and walks to where I sit. He backs into the wall and sinks to the floor beside me. Feeling him there releases something. I feel it snap in my chest like a rubber band and ricochet up my throat.
That fucking asshole!
I think. What monster leaves their five-year-old kid on a park bench? And how in the hell could that kid fool herself into cherishing the memory just because it’s the best one she has? Feeling like the world’s biggest idiot, I hang my head in the curve of my arms and sob. Devon turns to me, pulling all of me into all of him.

“Is your father the one who hurt you?” His whisper pierces my eardrum like a needle. It creeps into my brain in an unwelcome way. God, I don’t want to talk about this.

“No.” My voice is weak, pitifully weak, and I can’t believe I’m actually answering him. But wrapped in his arms, I feel safe enough to say it.

“Who hurt you, Carly?” I’ve never mentioned my past abuse to him. But he’s not an idiot. He’s seen my night terrors and the ways I’ve tried to hurt myself. He knows enough of the world to know. Until now, he’s never pried and I’ve loved him for that. So I’m shocked when I feel a tiny part of my heart jump for joy that he’s finally asking me. That he finally loves me enough to want to love the dark parts of me, too.

I shake my head. “You’d hate me if you knew.”

“No, I’d only hate him.”

Him. The word rattles in my brain like heavy metal prison chains. God I hate him, too.
I hate him for stealing my childhood. For taking my innocence and replacing it with a reality no child should ever live through. I hate him for stealing my future, because what right can ever come from a person who’s been so wronged?

“You, I’ll always love,” Devon whispers into my ear, and I pull him closer. I want to tell him, only I’ve spent so long hiding my secret I don’t know how. I shake my head again.

“I can’t say it,” I whimper against his chest.

A phone sits on the dresser. A notepad and pen sit beside that phone. Devon disentangles from me and is able to reach them without getting up.

“Write his name,” he says, pressing the pad and pen into my hand. I pull back. Looking at a stark white page, I shake my head again. I push them away, but he stops me. “Write his initials,” he says in a calm, reassuring way, guiding the paper back to my lap.

Devon tucks his head so his eyes find mine. His look is steady and determined. A look that tells me he’ll catch me if I fall. But there’s something else behind the navy depths. Hope. Hope that I see what he’s trying to do. My gaze falls to the notepad still pressed in my hand. I’m not an idiot.

If things are going to go anywhere with Devon, I have to tell him. He knows a monster haunts in my past, but he’s never pressured me to say who. He’s only made me feel safe. Made me feel that there’s nothing to fear as long as he’s here. And in doing that he’s made me want to tell him. He needs to understand my failures aren’t all my fault. He needs to know the extent of my brokenness if he’s going to put me back together. I take a deep breath and hold it as long as I can.

With shaking hands I write two simple letters.

M.L.

I drop the pen and grasp the paper in both hands. Heat floods my face, neck and chest before fading down my arms. It’s terrifying, but fascinating. Two simple letters to represent what has been the biggest influence in my world. All the drugs. All the booze. All the near-misses and total fuckups of my life are a direct result of what this man did to me.

Devon puts a hand on my shoulder, but remains far enough away that he’s not invading my space. I startle and realize I’ve been pulling in short, shallow breaths through my teeth for so long I’m dizzy. I hate Melvin. But I hate myself even more for allowing him to control me like this. With anger grinding my teeth and hate hammering my heart, I stare at the letters through tear-stung eyes.

M.L.
Why have I been so afraid of telling the truth? Why have I kept a secret that protects only him? Holding it in sure as hell hasn’t helped me. He’s the monster. I’m innocent. And he damn sure doesn’t deserve the kind of power I’ve allowed him to wield in my life. I run my thumb over the ink and swallow the rock in my throat. My hands stop shaking.

I’m not sure how long I sit staring at it. But slowly, limb by limb, fear’s cold clutch releases my body. Holding my secret in my hand instead of in my heart loosens the grasp it’s had on me. Secrets gain strength in darkness. Dragging it into the light makes it look pathetic and weak—everything a monster who preys on children is.

But there were two monsters in my life, both equally deserving of my hate.

Dad knew what Melvin was doing to me and did nothing to stop it. Hell, he even delivered me into the lion’s den. Blinded by an endless supply of free drugs, he never cared what it cost me. And even if he wasn’t in the room, I know he heard my screams. He saw my torn dress and the hollowness in my eyes when it was over. He watched a happy little girl pull away from a world she once loved. Still, he let it happen. Over and over again. In a lot of ways, that makes him worse.

My only option was to forget what happened to me, any and every way I could. Because how’s a little girl, whose parents don’t give a flying fuck, supposed to cope with something like that? Of course I turned to drugs. They were the only comfort I had.

Melvin’s abuse. My dad’s betrayal. Their shadows haunt every wrong turn I’ve made, but strangely every right one, too. Because they haven’t won. They tried to destroy me, and I’m still here.

I’m so mind-fucked by this newfound awareness, I don’t notice Devon reach for the lighter beside my cigarette pack. Before I can stop him, he strikes the flame and touches it to the corner of my note. I gasp and slap at the fire, until I understand what he’s doing.

Releasing my secret into the world releases me from under it.

I didn’t think I’d ever want these memories to see light, but now that he’s destroying the evidence for me, I realize I do. Devon takes the burning note from my hand and drops it into the glass. Beside my cigarette butt it burns to nothingness. I stare at the ash. Confusion clouds my brain. It’s paper and ink, and possesses no more power than I choose to give it.

In a moment of stark white clarity, I know. Control. That’s what this is about. Controlling it instead of letting it control me. For too long this ugly memory has guided me like the North Star. Some evil finger of it has ruled every aspect of my life. It almost killed me. And I was blind enough to let it. I lift my gaze to Devon’s. His navy blue eyes burn. If we’ve shared a heavier moment, I certainly don’t remember it. I shake my head, unable to believe what he’s unlocked. He nods slowly, encouragingly, and breathes half a smile. But doubt lingers behind his confidence. Doubt that I’ve fully grasped the change taking hold inside me. Oh, I’ve got it, all right. And I’m not ready to let it go.

I fumble for the pad and write again, not wanting to lose the high this power trip is building.

Melvin LaCroix.

I write his name, fold the page and hold it out to Devon. Again, he strikes the lighter, touches it to the corner and holds out the cup for me to drop it in.

My scalp tingles and sends the good kind of chills skittering down my back. Without bothering to watch it finish, I write again.

Melvin Fucking LaCroix.

Fold it. Torch it. Toss it. God, it feels good. I sigh so hard my shoulders bounce. But there’s more inside that wants out.

Melvin Fucking LaCroix raped me.

I recoil at this one, slapping a hand over my mouth and closing my eyes at the left hook that sucker punches my gut. I swallow hard against the pain. Fuck that. I’m moving too fast to stop now. Fold. Torch. Toss.

Melvin Fucking LaCroix raped me. My asshole father let him and it’s not my fault.

Tears flood my eyes. Chills race through me, replacing the nervous shakes with tremors of pure excitement. Because this is exactly what I need. Get it out. Get it all out. Something screams inside me, pushing me further than I ever thought I’d go. Fold. Torch. Toss. I take a deep breath, staring at a blank page, pen in hand.

Melvin LaCroix.

I tear the page from the pad and hold it between us. Devon strikes the lighter, but I cup my hand around it and blow it out. My gaze travels warily from the page to his face. He looks down at me, his eyes full of the kind of love and understanding I’ve looked for all my life. He’s already got every other part of me. I want him to have this one, too. He needs to know.

Again, my hands shake. This time for an entirely different reason. Carefully, I fold the paper and stare at it in my hand. I fold it again. And again. I fold until it can’t be folded anymore, hesitating, procrastinating, not entirely sure I want to do what I’m about to do. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, clasping the paper wad tightly in both hands. I close my eyes and release it. There’s a soft thud when it hits his palm. Sharing a secret so deeply rooted in my soul will bind us in a way that can never be undone. He obviously knows this.

“Do you want me to read this?” he asks.
No, not really
, I think. But it’s now or never. I nod, keeping my eyes closed like it protects me somehow.
God, if he unfolds that paper any slower, I’ll change my mind.
The sound of rustling paper stops. Silent seconds pass. He breathes deep, heavy, long breaths. Four of them. Still, my eyes remain closed.