Brutally Beautiful(77)

The drive back was silent; my thoughts though, were anything but. Nothing made sense to me. Why hadn’t she freaked out? How was she so calm? And how did she spread that calmness to me? How did she do everything she did? Why did she have those bandages? Did she have to take a CPR class because she was a waitress? Shit, I wasn’t stupid, I knew there was seriously more to it, I just wasn’t ready to admit anything yet, but a waitress she was not. And whose Porsche was this?

I woke her softly as soon as I pulled into her driveway, but when she opened her eyes and looked past me, I knew something was wrong. Her eyes were full of tears and I snapped my head in the direction she’d been staring.

The door to her trailer was torn off the hinges, broken in two and thrown against the stairs, like a child’s toy that had been long forgotten. Vile, demoralizing words had been painted in neon spray paint across the front of the tiny white trailer. Bitch. Cunt. You’re going to die.

With no regard for her safety, Lainey was out of the car and rushed through the ransacked trailer. “Lainey, stop, it’s too f*cking dangerous!” I called after her.

She ran in anyway and I fumbled like a madman out of the car after her. Instantly, she had my brother’s gun in her hands, and stepped through the open doorway, surveying the room, as you’d see a police officer do on a crime show.

Windows were shattered, broken in, as if someone had taken a baseball bat to them, and glistening shards of glass littered the rocky ground. Running up the wooden steps, I stopped just inside the threshold of the doorway and watched Lainey sink to her knees, surrounded by the mess of debris that used to be her cozy little home. “Clear,” she yelled out loud in a haunted voice, but I had a strange feeling she wasn’t really talking to me.

Dirt and mud caked the furniture that was all bashed and battered across the floor. Piles of what smelled like f*cking shit towered over her tabletop and across her walls written in thick red ketchup, or some sort of morbid looking sauce, were the words: Peek-A-Boo-Samantha-I see you. Deep beneath all of it was some rancid smell of decay. I gathered my arms around her kneeling form, as if in prayer, and lifted her off the repulsive floor. Cradling her in my arms, I carried her to the bedroom and sat her on the bed. “Pack a bag for yourself and Bree. Take anything that’s important, I’m calling the police.”

“NO!”

“Are you f*cking serious right now? Look at your trailer!”

“I can’t…get the police involved.”

Sitting on her bed, I pulled her into my arms and held her, let the world fix its-f*cking-self, my brain shut to autopilot and I brought her closer, nestling her against my chest. I’ll just take her home with me, protect her.

After a few moments, she untangled herself from my arms and began rummaging through drawers, shoving clothes into a large duffel bag. “What hotels are near that hospital?”

“Come home with me,” I whispered.

“Shut up, Kade.”

“Fuck you, Lainey, or whoever the f*ck you are. You think after all this shit that I’ll let you out of my sight? Fuck you.”

“This isn’t a game! Just shut up. Just shut the f*ck up!” She slung the duffel bag over her shoulder, grabbed what looked like a computer bag from under her bed, and rushed for the door.

Before she could get past me, I kicked the door closed, and backed her up against a wall filled with craters of broken plaster. Slamming my hands on the walls on both sides of her head, I wedged her against the wall and my body, ensuring the fact that she wasn’t getting away. She could f*cking shoot me for all I cared.