Seven Days (2 page)

Staying on my knees, I stared, unseeing, at the water-stained wall beside my bed, the mattress of my bed too warm beneath me to risk laying down. The heat really was stifling in early August and we didn’t have an air conditioner, only a swamp cooler. I knew I should try to sleep, but I couldn’t. I was still too awake to truly rest. I needed to keep going until every last drop of energy chased away the nightmares. I was still, at least, thirty-six hours away from that.

“What the fuck, Carrie?” Britton whispered, harshly as she pushed open my squeaking bedroom door sometime later. Looking over, I found my little sister still in her movie theatre uniform, her own auburn hair pulled back into a ponytail, a scowl marring her porcelain features.

Britton and I had taken after our mother’s Irish heritage, except our eyes. Britton had our dad’s chocolate brown eyes, whereas mine were my mother’s bright green. She’d gotten our mother’s curves, though, and I was stuck with the Patrick side’s stick figure of jutting collarbones and knobby knees. She always complained because I was so skinny that I had to run around in the shower to get wet, but she had to look over her breasts to see her shoes. The whole analogy didn’t make sense, but I let her have it. She was my little sister, and she was the only reason I hadn’t left this God-forsaken trailer park the second I turned 18. And now, four years later, we were just over a week until her 18
^th
birthday and our freedom.

“What, Britton?” I looked back at her, shifting in my bed.

“Um, this?” she questioned, holding up her hand in frustration. Looking closer, I found the source of her irritation, the baggie that Dallas had tried to leave with me was pinched between her fingers. “We are leaving in nine days. I thought we agreed you didn’t have to do this anymore,” she lectured.

“Don’t start with me right now, Britton. I do
that
,” I explained, gesturing toward my bedroom window, “so you don’t have to. We’ve been over this a thousand times.”

“That doesn’t mean I approve of it,” she mumbled, folding her arms under her ample chest.

“Whatever, just put the shit on the table. I’m going to bed,” I told her rolling over again and staring at the peeling wallpaper and water stained walls beside me.

“Bullshit, Carrie, you aren’t ready to go to sleep yet,” she called me out. “Look, it was my turn to bring the popcorn home, so get your naked ass dressed while I change out of this crap and we’ll watch a movie,” she offered, letting me hear the smile in her voice. Suddenly eating stale, but salty and buttery movie theatre popcorn and watching Emma Stone kiss Ryan Gosling in the middle of a bar sounded like just the thing I wanted to do.

“Fine,” I grumbled, more for show. “Not exactly a nutritious dinner though.”

“It’s three in the morning, Carrie, it’s more like the breakfast of champions at this point,” she disputed.

“Did you already kick dad off the couch?” I asked, getting out of bed to grab a nightshirt.

“He’s not here,” she told me over her shoulder as she walked out of my bedroom and down the hall to her room.

“What do you mean, he’s not here?” I asked, following after her, my footsteps echoing in the hallway. That was the thing about living in a trailer, it was nearly impossible to move around quietly. Every step sounded like a herd of elephants if you didn’t step lightly.

“I mean, that if he was here, I just would’ve thrown the baggie at him
before
I came to yell at you.”

“Oh,” I frowned, grabbing the package of my dad’s meth and walking past my sister to the living room, finding it just as deserted as Britton said it would be. Passing the beaten down plaid couch and recliner, I set the drugs that I continuously sold my dignity for on the yellow Formica kitchen table that might’ve passed for retro chic, if not for the burn marks blemishing the surface. When I finally got to the other side of the house, I saw that she was correct and my dad really wasn’t home.

I’d hoped that she’d been mistaken and he’d already gone to bed. That would be too easy on me though, and Richard Patrick was the king of making my life suck even more. He didn’t drive, so that could only mean two things: he’d walked wherever he’d gone or someone had picked him up. Both meant bad things for me and the coming nights.

“I didn’t hear him leave,” I grumbled to Britton when I made my way back to the darkened living room where she was setting up the movie.

“He probably snuck out while you were
occupied
,” she shrugged, putting finger quotes around the last word. “I think deep down inside, he doesn’t like what you are doing for him, but he knows that he doesn’t have the willpower to quit so you don’t have to do it anymore.”

“Ha!” I laughed, bitterly, knowing his guilt wasn’t what drove him away. It was more about plausible deniability, and letting his ‘friends’ do whatever they wanted to his oldest daughter, because he was convinced that I liked it. “Him leaving like that only creates more problems for me, more debt that I have to pay off and he knows it,” I complained, grabbing a handful of room temperature popcorn from the giant bag on the floor between us.

“Let’s just forget about it for now. I mean, less than two weeks to go now, right?” she asked, giving me a small guarded smile. “We’re finally in the home stretch, and tomorrow, er, I mean, today, I guess, is another day!” she finished, brightly, hitting the button on the remote and settling against the armrest of the couch.

**

Dad still hadn’t returned when I had to leave for work a couple hours later. I tried not to worry about where he was. It was Saturday morning, which meant he’d had a number of parties in the park to choose from the night before. I wondered if he’d ended up at Dallas’ as I slipped behind the wheel of my car and headed for my breakfast shift at the diner. If he had, I could probably take the bag he’d left last night back and we’d be square. Deep inside, though, I knew I owed Ben for whatever my father had gotten up to last night. I fucking hated when I owed Ben.

Tapping my stereo, I attached the tape adapter from my car kit and hit play on my portable CD player. It was 2014, and I still had a portable CD player because all of my money went to bills and my savings to get out of this hell hole. Britton and I shared a basic cell phone. She usually had it because she could always call the diner, where I worked double shifts most days. As the opening strains of
Savior
by Rise Against started to pound through my car, I tried not to focus on who might come through my window tonight demanding payment.

Ben Archer was our landlord and over twenty years older than me, even older than my dad. At least with Dallas, I could pretend that I was still attracted to him, but with Ben, there was no pretending. I couldn’t hide from his skinny chest and potbelly, the pock marks on his face or his wiry comb-over. He liked to make me pay through acts of humiliation. It wasn’t enough to just fuck me and leave like the others. No, he made me beg him and suck his dick before he took me on the floor from behind.

Although there were a few others that demanded payment for drugs given to my father, Dallas and Ben were my most frequent guests. While Ben was the manager of the trailer park, Dallas was just another tenant like us. He was only about five years older than me, but now, he could easily pass for a man in his mid-thirties thanks to the drugs.

I still remembered the day he and Noah moved in to the park. I was almost fourteen, and they were eighteen. They picked the park because the rent was cheap and they wanted out of their respective parents’ houses. Both guys pursued me in the beginning, but Noah won me over.

After our break-up and the subsequent fall out, including his loose lips that led to both Dallas and Ben taking advantage of my situation, I didn’t see Noah much anymore. He still lived with Dallas, but he steered clear of me. According to him, he could’ve protected me from the vultures, but since I shut him down, I was on my own. Dallas hinted at wanting more with me, but after the way he used the same tactic Ben did to get me into bed, I couldn’t see him as anything more than what I was letting him do to me.

I screamed out the lyrics of the song as I sped toward downtown, trying to fight back the tears that threatened every morning that I existed in this nightmare factory. Just under nine more days, I told myself over and over again until the shaking stopped and I was able to pull myself back from the brink yet again. I could do this.

The parking lot was already half full when I pulled in five minutes later. Taking a deep breath, I pushed out of the car and put on my best customer service face so I could tackle the barrage of old people and cops.

“Morning, Carrie,” Matilda, our hostess, greeted with a big smile. How she was able to muster such cheerfulness at 5:30 every morning was beyond me. Although, I’m sure if I slept more than three nights a week, I might be in better spirits too.

“Morning, Tildy,” I said, heading toward the register to clock in. Tildy was a year older than my sister, Britton and one of her best friends. It was strange to work with her, because I’d known her since she was in first grade. I was glad that my sister had someone in her corner like Tildy, because I’d never met a more loyal friend.

“Marco’s got you in the back section today,” she told me, nodding toward the alcove area near the kitchen. I tried and failed to contain my groan at my assignment. They were the worst tables in the diner, not to mention, Donald liked to sit back there. He wasn’t a terrible guy, just lonely and very particular about how he wanted his breakfast cooked. It might have been easy to take care of him, since he was here every morning, but the dementia he suffered from meant that he didn’t always remember you and his demands were ever changing.

“You know that you are the only one with enough patience to deal with him,” she reminded gently, prompting an eye roll from me.

“Whatever.”

“Well, as an apology, I just sat some eye candy back there for you before you walked in,” she winked, her adorable little all-American girl dimple popping out on her cheek before she threw her blonde ponytail over her shoulder. “Better get back there and take his order already,” she finished, waggling her eyebrows at me.

I let out an unattractive snort and headed to my section. I couldn’t wait to see what Tildy had stuck me with this time. The last time she’d told me she’d given me eye candy, I’d found Dallas in my section. That had been disconcerting on so many levels.

When I arrived, I found I only had two single tables occupied, one was my regular, Donald, and the other one contained the most beautiful man I’d ever seen in real life. My journey came to an abrupt stop as I watched him pouring over the menu like it contained the formula to turn lead into gold.

As if sensing my presence, the man turned, giving me the full effect of his beautiful amber eyes, haphazardly styled brown hair, and strong jaw covered with a dark five o’clock shadow. I was paralyzed briefly by the intensity of his gaze as it swept over my body, from my perfect little high ponytail that put my hair just below my shoulders, to my ‘adorable’ forest green waitress dress and half-apron that fell an inch above my knees, and down to my super comfortable white tennis shoes. I refused to wear heels on the days I worked a double.

I should have been offended by the blatant perusal. However, I found myself hoping I would meet his approval. The small turn of his full lips at one corner was the only indication I had that he’d liked what he saw. With a small internal shake, I smiled at him and cocked my head toward Donald to let the stranger know I’d be right with him.

I used the distraction of the older, silver haired man in the back corner booth to get my riotous feelings under control. After putting in Donald’s order, I gave myself a small pep talk before leaving the kitchen again. When I knew I could handle myself, I walked toward the stranger’s table.

“Hi, my name is Carrie, and I’ll be taking care of you this morning,” I started, keeping my eyes on the order pad I had in front of me. “I see Tildy got you started,” I continued, indicating his carafe and full cup of black coffee. “What else can I get you?” I finished, hoping that I didn’t sound as breathless as I felt.

“How about I start with the lumberjack special, with ham and eggs, over easy,” he said. His voice was like smooth, rich chocolate flowing over my skin, and, God, did I want to invite him to lick every last drop from my body.

“What kind of toast would you like with that?” I asked, trying to suppress the shudders of arousal pinging through my body. Never had I ever been more aware of another human being before. I wasn’t sure I liked it, but I knew I didn’t want him to leave either.

“Banana bread,” he answered with a chuckle, drawing my eyes to his with his absurd order. When they collided, I heard him take a sharp inhale of breath, echoing my own involuntary response. I don’t think either of us could deny the pulse of electricity present as we stared at each other. “I wondered if they would be just as beautiful up close,” he confessed. “I wasn’t prepared for that.”

“We don’t have banana bread, sir,” I said, dumbly, unable to acknowledge his words for the fear that I might just crawl into his lap right there. “We have white, whole wheat, rye and sourdough,” I listed.

“Whole wheat,” he answered, holding my gaze. “And please, call me Ryan.”

“Anything else I can get you, Ryan?” I asked, trying to find a way to both prolong my time at his table and leave at the same time.

“That’s all…for now,” he said with a smile, revealing a row of perfect white teeth to me. On most guys, it would’ve looked smarmy, maybe a bit calculating, but on him, it looked sincere, even sweet and shy. “Ask me again when you drop off the check,” he finished with a wink, effectively sending me from the table and toward the kitchen to put in his order.