Kayden: The Past (23 page)

My pulse increased, and my heart stammered with the news.

“Also, I’m placing a no-contact order on the property and Ms. Jackson. You are not allowed within fifty yards of said property or Ms. Jackson herself. Am I clear, Mr. Michaels?” the judge asked.

My heart sank, nausea overcame me, and I felt lightheaded. I couldn’t go home and couldn’t be with Lisa, or I’d break probation and be forced to serve jail time. My body felt numb.

“Mr. Michaels, do you understand?” the judge asked again.

“Yes, judge, I understand,” I said.

Court dismissed, and my lawyer held out his hand to shake mine. I looked at it and then to his face, trying to grasp the orders of the judge. My lawyer smiled, but nothing about the verdict, or lack thereof, caused me happiness. I walked past him, without hesitation, into the hallway and collapsed on a bench. I had nothing and no one – my only salvation was in the shelter that I now called home.

Saints & Sinners ~ New Orleans

I spent my days working in the store, my evenings in group meetings and my nights making phone calls trying to find work. I needed to make money and get the hell out of this place. Once I got my shit together after my trial, or lack thereof, I was issued a new ID card and went immediately to the bank. I had some money saved and could at least get out of the shelter for a night and go somewhere else to make a home, but there was a problem.

Lisa used the time I stayed in the shelter, without any way to get my money, to drain my account. She left about fifty dollars out of the kindness of her heart. She had all my passwords, and I should’ve known better than to think she wouldn’t rip me off. I had no way to prove it was her because my account was used to pay bills, but it was her. I had enough money for a single bus ticket. I needed to make the right choice, one that would make my life take a different path.

Derek, the guy who brought me home after my release from jail in St. Louis, called me after weeks of waiting to hear back about possible work. I saw his name flash on my phone, and I hit the talk button as quickly as I could. “Hello.”

“Hey bud, how you been?”

“I’ve been better. Still haven’t heard anything back on work. I’m starting to go out of my fucking mind.”

“Well, I have some good news for you.”

“What?”

“A company is hiring in New Orleans. They need workers ASAP, if you’re looking to work. I hear they’re even offering a signing bonus.”

“Do they have company housing? I don’t have a fucking thing to my name, Derek. The bitch stripped my bank account; I have just enough for a bus ticket.”

“They do, and they’ll supply the tools and the truck. Worth a shot. Better than sitting in that hell hole, are you still there?”

“Where else would I be? Text me the info, so I can jump on that shit and get things rolling.”

“Will do, you okay?”

“I’ll be better as soon as I get out of here. I need my life back.”

“And Kayden?”

“What?”

“Stay away from women. You don’t seem to have the best pussy picker.”

“No fucking shit. I’m done, out, finished. Relationships aren’t for me.”

“Yeah, that’s one way of putting it. Some of the guys from St. Louis went down to NOLA, so you’ll be in good company.” The thought of staying in the south for the winter gave me a sense of relief; I couldn’t deal with another winter in the cold and snow.

Derek and I talked a few more minutes and then I waited for his text. I felt hopeful for the first time in weeks and slept through the night without the help of a beer. I called Human Resources the next morning and started the application process. It would take about two days for everything to process, and I could start immediately. I decided to get the fuck out of dodge as quickly as possible and bought my ticket that evening. I’d catch the nine p.m. bus to New Orleans and start over… again.

I wanted a fresh start away from the bullshit and chaos I always seemed to create and the waves of misfortune that followed me like an unending tide.

New Orleans is a place for new beginnings, a place one could go and get lost and leave old baggage behind, but not the right city for someone who craves alcohol. The party atmosphere’s infectious and all consuming. It pulled me in and wrapped me in her southern Créole charm, making it feel like home to me more than anywhere else in the world. I could be anything I wanted here; I could live life
o
n my own terms.

Déjà vu hit me as I walked through the door of the apartment. It wasn’t the large home that eight of us shared in St. Louis but a small space with three bedrooms. It’s common in the cable/satellite industry for the employees to live in company housing. The workers are transient and move with the work and money.

It was evening, and the apartment was buzzing with activity. I’d already stopped by HR and had all my paperwork cleared earlier than expected and got my housing key. I had to sign a million forms, signing away my life and most of my money for a while – I had to pay for the truck, tools, and rent out of each check.

“Kayden,” a voice yelled. Tom sat at the table in his work clothes, eating a sandwich with pieces falling on his plate. Tom and I worked together in St. Louis, and we’d kept in contact after I left. At least I knew one person walking through the door.

“Hey man, I didn’t know you’d be here.” I walked toward him and set my bags down on the floor. I held out my hand to him.

“I just got here a couple of weeks ago.” He wiped his hands on his t-shirt; Tom wasn’t always known for his class, but I still liked him. “That’s Mark and John over there, and Tony’s in the kitchen.” He pointed to each one as he said their name. I looked at the guys and nodded my head, and they did the same. I was an outsider, but with such close living quarters, that wouldn’t be the case for long.

“Where’s my room? They said they had a single open.” Most of the guys shared a room to cut down on the rent, but the last fucking thing in the world I wanted to do was share a room with strangers and definitely not another guy. It’d cost me a boat load, but after living in a shelter, I just wanted a room all to myself.

“Right there,” he said, pointing to the first room in the hallway. “When ya start?” He turned his attention back to the sandwich.

“Tomorrow, I have to go stock my truck and pick up the keys; maybe they’ll have me on the road in the afternoon.”

“Go put your shit away and come have a drink.”

It was inevitable. Liquor is part of the diet in this life, just like water when it’s hot, alcohol filled the evenings for everyone. The bottles were already lined up on the counter waiting to be consumed. I’d have to learn how to control myself. The women in my life were what led me to overindulge; without them, would I be able to keep shit in check?

The bedroom had very little furniture, but that didn’t matter. I’d be able to fill it up soon enough after I started working. We’d be paid weekly, and I didn’t have any other bills or obligations, well, besides the restitution payments to Lisa, but I wasn’t in a hurry to pay that off before I was required. I hung up my few pieces of clothing and sat on the bed and took stock in what I had and what I’ve lost.

I never had the chance to go back to get my things at Lisa’s. The no-contact order meant I couldn’t enter the property even with permission from her to get anything. I only had the clothes given to me at the shelter and a few small items. I had nothing for the first time in my life. Everything I owned fit into a duffel bag. I could hear the guys laughing, and loud music started to shake the walls, and I felt a happiness and inner peace that I hadn’t felt in a long time. I felt like I had a home again.

Did I get drunk that night? No, I didn’t. Did I drink? Yes. I didn’t need to get drunk. I didn’t need to show up for my first day of work with a hangover. I wanted to sit with the guys, find out about New Orleans and work, the hot topic of conversation. I listened to all their complaints and issues, but I knew I could work through anything. One thing I did well was work my ass off. I also fucked like a champ and could party like a rock star in my youth, but now was the time to put my head down and make cash.

I signed up for every type of online ‘dating’ website I could find during my first week in New Orleans. Facebook wasn’t the only game in town. I made profiles on Match, Plenty of Fish, and even a site called Fuckbook. I didn’t want a date – I was told these sites were strictly to hook up with chicks and get laid. I wanted to find someone looking for a little fun and a lot of cock. Each inbox filled up within days, and it was like a buffet of pussy sitting there waiting to be eaten.

I wrote and chatted with a few women, but they wanted relationships. My line to them always: I’m not looking for a relationship; I just want to fuck. Crude I know, but I laid it out for them. I only wanted one thing from a woman at this point. I didn’t want the problems and complications that seemed to follow me around like a black rain cloud over my head. I found the promise land on Fuckbook and Facebook. Friends of friends on Facebook heard about me and wanted to chat and Fuckbook, I don’t really need to explain.

I opened my FB messages, and Carrie had sent me a hello. She looked beautiful, but I knew pictures were usually bullshit. I used my picture, but most people try and scam with some random photo they find online. How do I know this? Because I kept seeing the same girl’s photo popping up with different names all over the country. Her photo didn’t send up any red flags, and her message was short and to the point: Hi ya, you’re hot as fuck.

I loved a girl with a dirty mouth. I hit the chat button next to her name and took a shot.

Me: Hey. Like what you see? I know I do.

God, what do you say to someone you just want to bang and don’t really give a fuck who they are or what they’re doing. I wasn’t going to be a dick about it. I wasn’t entirely cold hearted at this point in my life, but I just didn’t want to waste time or make false promises of a happily ever after.

Carrie: I’d rather see you without a shirt. Got something you can send me?

Her message gave me pause. Was I being played? I always thought I was the player, but I wasn’t sure about Carrie. Too quick on wanting the skin photos, maybe.

Me: What are you going to show me?

Carrie: I have plenty to show. You live in New Orleans?

A photo filled the chat window – She wore a very low cut shirt and lots of cleavage. Her face was visible in the picture, and it matched her profile. All the little things you have to watch for when trolling online. So many ways to get duped.