Secret Lucidity(32)

“How can you defend her after she’s treated you like shit and dumped you?”

“Bus is leaving,” Coach hollers.

“I can’t believe you,” I seethe through boiling anger. “He was my dad.”

“Cam, wait,” Kroy says when I turn my back and start walking to Coach Andrews.

“Leave me alone.”

I walk past Coach, gritting my teeth while trying to tame in the fury that’s on the brink of eruption.

“You okay?”

I don’t speak as I stalk in heavy strides to the bus that takes too long to deliver me back to my car. With my head pressed against the window, I watch as dark storm clouds roll in. Coach asks me a few more times about what happened, and when I refuse to confide in him, he encourages me to text him if I need to.

But I won’t, because when I finally get home, I find everything I need to calm myself in my dad’s leather case.

My stomach is marred. Every scar marks a tally of devastation I wasn’t strong enough to deal with on my own. I cut, and for a moment, I feel strong and untouchable, but when the high wanes, I’m left feeling weaker than before. It’s a vicious cycle that somehow I’ve become addicted to.

I hear a commotion from downstairs and close the razor, tucking it back in the case and stashing them both under my vanity. Then, I wipe away the blood with a handful of toilet paper, jump to my feet, and flush the reddened wad before rushing to the top of the stairs.

I look down to see my mother lying at the feet of some man.

“What the hell is going on?”

“She’s wasted,” the stranger says as I run down to her.

“Who’re you?”

“William. I’m a friend of your mother’s.” It’s all he offers before reaching down to pick her back up. “Which room is hers?”

Words fail me, and when I point up the stairs to her bedroom door, sense kicks in, biting its fangs into my flesh deeper than what I ever could have expected.

Blood pulses heavily through my veins as I watch him carrying her with her arms draped around his neck. I’m frozen in shock of the truth as to what she’s been doing when she goes out.

When William reappears after putting her in bed, I question, “Are you two dating?”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it dating.”

His cocky smirk tells me all I need to know, and a wave of nausea strangles me.

“Here are her car keys,” he adds, reaching into his pocket.

I hold my hand out, and when he drops them into my palm, I feel like vomiting.

He leaves, taking all the respect I ever had for that woman with him.

How could she?

Stomping up the stairs, I stand in the doorway and look at the monstrosity who’s black-out drunk. I fist the keys, willing them to break my flesh before I send them flying toward her limp body. And finally, the eruption spews its flames and throws me over the edge.

I ball my fists and scream, calling her a slut, calling her a whore. Half of me wishes alcohol poisoning on her, but then the other half prays she doesn’t die and leave me.

I hate her so much.

I hate everything she’s doing to the remnants of us.

My heart pounds erratically against my chest, so hard I can feel the vibrations, so hard I can feel it in my throat, so hard I just might choke on it.

I run to my room, slam the door behind me, and fall face first onto my bed. Burying my head in a pillow, I wail. My voice rips through scalding tears for my dad to come save me, but it isn’t enough. I have to get out of here, so I grab my keys and escape this purgatory disguised as my home.

Rain falls hard against the windshield as I drive. Everything blurs in streaks of liquid light, and I make it to just outside the entrance of the neighborhood before I’m forced to pull over. Throwing the car in park, I listen to the wipers as they whip back and forth while I try to catch my breath.

I can’t do this on my own any longer.

In dire need of comfort, I pick up my phone and call the only person I know that can make me feel safe.

“Is everything okay?”

“No,” I choke out, trying to hide the harrowing urgency in my voice, but it bleeds through anyway.

“What happened?”

“Please,” I beg, frantically trembling. “Can you come pick me up?” Because I’m heartbroken and afraid and there’s no way I can drive right now.

“I’m on my way.”





I STAND IN THE RAIN, believing that the elements just might be strong enough to abate.

Tilting my face up to the heavens above, I wonder if they even exist. And if they do, why would God allow this to be happening to me? It’s hard not to hate whatever is in control here, if anything is at all. Maybe this world is nothing more than spun out happenstances.

I’m sick of feeling.

I want to go back to numb.

Headlights beam brightly, and when I turn toward the blinding rays, they slow to a stop and the driver’s side door pops open.

“Are you okay?” Coach Andrews questions in a panic as he runs over to me.

A barreling of thunder crashes overhead.

He quickly tucks me under his arm, shouting over the storm, “Come on,” and leads me over to his SUV.

I want to speak so I can calm his worry, but I can’t. Everything collides with surrealism now that he’s here. When I’m safely inside his car, he walks around to his door, ducking his head against the pouring rain. His car is warm and dry and peacefully silent aside from the pelting of rain and occasional rattle of thunder.