Page 5 of Redd

* * * *

That's how many?

Scratching the back of the door, I counted the lines inside my head.One hundred and twenty-two days. . . Four months.

It had only been four fucking months since Diablo took my world and burned it to the ground. It felt like so much longer. Each second, minute, hour; all of it smeared together into a giant mass of shit.

I hated time, I hated counting days, but I had to do it. I didn't want to lose track of the sun and the moon, of dates that were once important and moments that held a significance in my life.

That means it's November seventh.

Today. . . Today was my birthday, I was nineteen. A sadness filled my chest, weighing me down. It hurt, it really hurt to be there and not at home.

I was going to miss out on my father waking me up with a big hug and the scent of dough boys wafting in from the kitchen. It was a tradition, something I looked forward to.

Every year my father would make me dough boys, smothered in powdered sugar, and we'd spend the morning stuffing our faces until we felt shaky and full and couldn't move.

Not this year. . . Maybe next year.

Maybe. . . A word that barely means the thought it's built on.

Dropping the small stone to the floor, I shook my head to myself. What good was thinking about a maybe when I had no clue what tomorrow would bring?

Hope.

I can't lose that, I can't let it fizzle out like a dying flame.

I still needed to think there was hope. If I lost that, I'd have absolutely nothing.

Hope was the stem, hope was the petals and pollen that kept me going. Hope gave me the strength to wake up day after day, and push through this black cloud, knowing that outside those walls was a world waiting for me to come home.

I wonder if Dad still made dough boys today?

Backing away from the door, I curled my legs into my chest and tucked my head in between my knees.What has happened to me? How did my life end up like this?

I had no answers. I had thoughts, I had ideas, but no one would tell me why.

Tidbits of information would float in the air and I would snatch them up the best I could. Quiet conversations gave way to puzzle shaped knowledge I was trying to piece together.

My father was somehow twisted around the sour root that held me here. But I had no clue what he had done or how far into this world he had come.

It was hard for me to imagine my dad mingling with these men in any way. The man I knew was a simple guy. He liked to watch football on Sundays, he liked to add sugar to his homemade sauce because he said it helped bring down the acidity.

My dad was the guy at the bar who would buy a round of shots because he heard it was someone's birthday, or he would give his change at the register to the customer behind him just because he thought it was a nice thing to do.

To me, my father was just that—simple. He owned a small bar downtown, he taught me to drive, he showed me the pride in working hard and reaping the rewards of doing your best.

Where he fit into this world, it was beyond me.

The light creeping in from under the door faded as Diablo stepped in close. “Knock knock, Bijou, are you awake?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good, time for breakfast.” Unlocking the door, I blocked my eyes as a burst of light hit my pupils like a high speed train. “Get up, I want eggs today. And this time, I want you to do them right, no fucking it up like the other day.”

“Yes, Sir.” Pushing up and onto my feet, I cupped my hands in front of my waist and kept my eyes on the floor.

“How's your cheek doing?” Grabbing my chin, he forced my head up and turned it to the side. “Still swollen, but it's looking better. One of these days you'll learn to do things right and you won't need punishments anymore.”