Page 27

Chapter twenty-five

Nadia

I t’s been a long time since I have taken a few days off without being forced to do so, whether that be from incidents at work like Kace choking me out, or illness related. I usually find it difficult not having anything to do. The sensation is odd, to say the least, and by the time half of the day passes, I am ready to get back to the prison.

I don’t know if it’s just routine or if I need the stimulation of power to get me through the day. After changing therapists, and refusing to go altogether, work has become my coping mechanism even if my job is tedious, and at times, dangerous.

Tell me why, though, I find myself sitting in the living room of my childhood home. Looking down at my father as he snores like a freight train, sprawled out in his recliner like he just came off a three or four day high.

This place reeks, as if it hasn’t been cleaned with products in months; which it likely hasn’t since I moved out years ago. There is trash scattered everywhere from leftover take out containers, to cups half rotted through with mold crawling up the weekend paper siding.

The kitchen wasn’t any better when I came in through the back door. A stained trail of dirt carves a path along the linoleum, trash piled up to waist-height in a bin next to the counter that is beginning to connect with another pile that sits on the top. Dirty dishes resting in the sink crusted with food, soiled socks and pants randomly strewn across the floor out of the kitchen and down the hallway toward the bedrooms and bathroom.

This man is a slob.

It is obvious that I was the only one keeping things together in this house, and thank fuck I moved out when I could. If I would have stayed, I likely would have endured more physical abuse from my father and been tasked with tending to the man like he were my own child.

I’d choose a kid at this point, at least I’d have control. When you live a life similar to the one I had with someone else dictating everything you do, you crave the independence and vie for control. I can confidently say that while I still have issues, which I am working through on my own, I am a better person than I would have been if I stayed here.

Still, he snores. My upper lip curling in slight disgust when his right hand reaches down to adjust his junk. The clothes he is wearing look like they have been covered in automotive grease and not washed since he purchased them—wherever they came from.

Drawing a foot back, I kick the side of his chair, jostling him, sending him into one hell of a shock as he wakes up.

“What the fuck!” he snaps, abruptly trying to roll his ass out of the chair and onto his feet, huffing and puffing with the effort.

“Hi, Dad.”

“The fuck is your problem?”

“You, as always.”

He glares down at me, his fists clenching at his sides, at my petulant behavior—which is what he likes to say. Holding his glare, silence settles between the two of us, but I don’t budge until he finally speaks again. The rancid smell of stale cigarettes and lack of toothpaste wafting from his mouth.

“What are you doing in my house, Nadia?”

“Came to see my dear ol’ dad, of course. Your doctor called me a few days ago saying you haven’t attended any of your appointments. I wanted to see if you had died yet.”

“You’re such a cunt, you know that? Wishing me dead.”

“Did I say I wished you were dead? I mean, I’m sure I’ve thought it, but I don’t believe those words ever come out of my mouth.”

He steps closer, bringing his face near to mine in an attempt to spook me, but I don’t care. I’ve learned to accept any sort of pain and thrive.

“You’re lucky you work for that damn prison because if I had it my way, I’d strangle you and send you back with bruises around that scrawny fucking neck of yours.”

“You’re going to have to do better than that. I’ve been choked out by men twice your worth, albeit incarcerated, and went back to work the next day.”

That was a little bit of a lie, but he doesn’t need to know that. Truth is, Kace had me out for only a few days, and it wasn’t what I would have chosen for myself. The warden forced me to take the time, and I hated every minute of it.

“I’m not surprised. You probably volunteered for it. Don’t think I have forgotten you spreading your legs for my coworkers.”

“Never expected you to forget, Dad. I want you to walk this town as embarrassed of me as I am to be your child.”

“If I knew you would be this way, maybe I should have taken on a different business adventure since you’re so eager to be a slut.”

“Is that what you did to Mom? You always blamed me for her leaving, but if you were anything like this to her, I understand why she ran.”

With his illness and his sluggishness, I see him lift his hand before he can bring it close enough to cause any harm. Slapping his arm away, I used my other to grab his wrist, turn, slide under his arm, and wrench his wrist back to me. His back bowed as he yells at the pain now radiating through his shoulder and down his spine.

Taking things a step further, I kick him in the back of his knees and drop him to the filthy carpet. Cancer ridden or not, he doesn’t deserve my empathy or help. He’s where he belongs, on his knees and in pain, experiencing a fraction of the discomfort he caused me through my whole life.

“You fucking bitch!”

“Awe, Dad, does that hurt?”

“Let me go!”

“No, you’re going to listen to me. You’re the only person I have left in this fucking life and I may hate you with all but one cell of my body but I’m going to make sure you go to your appointments, even if it’s to watch you suffer through the poison they pump through your veins. And watch you die anyway.”

“I should have sent you with your mother and never laid my eyes on you again.”

“Yeah, you should have.”

With a hard shove, I watch him fall forward and try to catch himself with his hands, but he is too weak and not fast enough to stop from hitting the floor.

Pathetic.

Standing up straight, I step over him as he sprawls across the floor and head down the hall to my bedroom—his grunts and gasps for air fading when I step through the door.

I never knew what to expect coming home and though I thought he would have cut my existence out of his tiny memory, the sight I walked into was almost heartbreaking. Everything I had was destroyed.

My bed posts were bent and sitting at odd angles with my blankets, pillows, and the mattress gutted like wild game. My trinkets smashed and broken; the desk I use to do my homework at, crushed down the center. Clothes yanked off the hangers and strewn everywhere and from somewhere came the scent of urine.

What in the actual fuck.

This was my father, the man who raised me. He attempted to influence and make me into someone he could depend on—a woman with a strong back bone–and while he got just what he wanted, it quickly turned on him.

Stepping further inside, I amble over to my night stand and pull the drawer open, rummaging through it for anything left of value, but there’s nothing. This room, this house, it is a stain on my past that I can no longer stomach. Yet, in the very bottom, tucked away in the back, sits a Zippo I managed to swipe from Kaleb when we were in our Ag Mechanics class so many years ago.

My heart squeezes looking at the metal, remembering the boy I loved before I ever could find love for myself. Popping the lid, I flicked the striker and a flame sparked to life. I can’t begin to explain the comfort that settles over me when the scent of flint and butane fill my nose. It smells like him—what I could remember. All I am missing is rich leather and that cologne by Azzaro— Chrome, I think.

Closing the lid, I stuff the Zippo in my pocket and slam the drawer so hard the furniture rattles. Heading around the foot of my old bed, I walk past everything like it means nothing, and in a way it does. This girl, this motherless, emotionally stunted girl is gone. Kaleb wanted more for me; my friends still strive to bring me out of the darkness my soul seems to linger in.

There is more for me and the only way to move forward is to snuff out the past.

Walking down the hall, my hands reach out to run the expanse of the walls. Feeling the wood paneling beneath my fingertips with each step. Some places along the wood are rougher than others, some slimy as if they were coated with oil. When I make it to the end of the hall, I see dad sitting in his chair again, rolling a cigarette with the cheapest tobacco he could buy.

He’s so sad.

My inmates have the means to get good smoke behind bars, yet here sits the man who is supposed to be a positive force in my life—desperately shoving dry leaves in rolling paper and licking the edge. I can’t help but chuckle to myself. Head tilting to the side while I look at him.

“Watch yourself, child.”

A smile so big that it feels good spreads across my face, incapable of containing my laugh as I step back into the living room. Delirium is what they call this, I think.

“You know what I have learned at the prison over these past few years?”

“What’s that? That those men deserve to be put down like rabid animals?”

“That they’re real. What you see is what you get. There is no lie, no facade they are hiding behind. My killers own every murder they have committed. Men who have embezzled sitting comfortably in their cells reading like they are unbothered by the world. Drug peddlers doing their thing like walls and gates don’t separate them from the rest of society. They don’t shield who they are and that, Dad, is exactly what I need in life.”

“What are you going on about?”

“I’m where I belong. Work may be dangerous at times, but I have the respect from men who could do what you never could—end my life. If that doesn’t scream true power…”

Trailing off, I reach into my pocket and pull out the lighter again. Walking over to the dingy curtains that lined one of the windows by the front door, I strike the flint and bring about flames once more. Then? I hold it to the edge of the fabric–watching as the flame licks and starts to catch onto the fibers.

“What the fuck are you doing Nadia Raylie!” he screams.

“Something I should have done a long time ago.”

Once the filthy cotton caught, I move to the next, then over to the opposite window.

Of course, he panics and rushes over, trying to blot the flames but I am moving too fast and Kaleb's Zippo is burning too hot.

He is helping me, beyond the grave, to leave this life.

Just like we planned.

Dad couldn’t stop the flames, and I moved too quickly for him to keep up with his delayed movements. Within moments, fire was devouring the house. We stand outside as the rickety shack that holds so many bad memories while it roars with flames. The heat almost too much to bear, but it feels freeing across my skin, turning it splotchy and pink while the rest of my pain trails down my cheeks in the form of tears.

Sirens wail down the road, the fire department trying to make it into the neighborhood but are blocked by the over crowded streets— cars parked on both sides making the road one tight squeeze that was too snug for the engine to make it in time.

Turning, I head back to my truck, finding a spot to lean against while everything burns. My dad, no, my sperm donor, shouts and fretts over the firefighters getting to the house faster.

What a fool, no amount of pleading is going to stop everything you own from burning to the fucking ground.

It takes a while for the fire department to get everything under control but they should have just maintained a perimeter and let it finish burning. Nothing but the bones remaining— albeit charred.

“Nadia?” An almost familiar voice calls from my left.

I turn to meet the face of Detective Whitlock.

“Detective.” Keeping it short. “Wasn’t aware IA dabbled in accidental fires.”

“Mm, that’s why I am here. The fire marshal said that this may be arson according to the homeowner.”

“Ahh, yeah, I suppose.”

Crossing my arms over my chest, I look forward, watching the show for a few more moments before I shove away from the truck and head for the driver-side door.

“Not so fast,” he speaks, hand darting out to grab hold of my elbow and halt me from moving any further.

Looking down at where he grips me, I stare momentarily before flicking my eyes up to his. His brows pinch together as he holds me there. Finally releasing, and straightening his perfectly pressed shirt like he was the one ruffled by the interaction and not me, he starts with his police bullshit.

“I’m going to take you down to the station for a talk.”

“No, you’re not. You don’t have any probable cause nor have I indicated any guilt.”

“Nadia, cooperate or this could go south very fast.”

“My childhood home just burned to a crisp and you think I’m concerned about things getting worse?”

“T—this was your home?” he asks curiously but stupidly.

“Yes, the frantic man on the phone with 9-1-1 is none other than my father. Now, if you would, get out of my way.”

Powering by him, I make it to the driver side door and start to wrench it open, only for the detective to step up and shove it closed.

This guy has a death wish if I ever saw one.

Turning, I press my back against the truck and look up at him, waiting for him to speak. Eyes looking over his features for any hint of deception or need for caution. He could put me behind bars with ease, now that he knows I am tied to another crime. Hopefully, my father will keep his fucking mouth shut and take the insurance money to pay his medical bills, but if I knew him, he won’t.

“We’re not done here, Nadia. I suggest you follow me down to the station or the next time I see you, it will be with a warrant for your arrest.”

“Hmph, when you put it that way, Detective .”

Unfolding my arms, I hand him my wrists, suspending them in the space between us. Patiently waiting for him to slap handcuffs around them, but this goody-two-shoes won’t do anything of the sort. He plays by the book, like a goddamn square. With a little smirk, I drop my hands and proceed to get into my truck.

“See you next time, Detective. We’ll make it a date.”

Slamming the door in his face and placing the key in the ignition, I start the truck with a loud rumble. Shifting it out of park and into drive, I press on the gas pedal and lurch the truck forward. This is the last time I will ever come back here, no matter what happens; this part of my life is gone.

Pulling back up at my apartment, the scent of smoke embedded in my Aerosmith T-shirt and leggings, I jump out and shut the door firmly behind me. Gravel crunches under my shoes as I whistle on my way to the mailbox nestled in the community area of my complex.

Stepping up to my box, I slide the small key into the locking mechanism and turn it, the metal grinding against the frame holding the square door steady when not in use. Pulling it open, I reach in and snatch the contents out. A few envelopes, probably bills which I pay via phone, then others that look like spam. Chucking those into the trash, I head out of the community area and drift toward my apartment.

I usually like to park in front of the stairs that lead up to my unit, but a neighbor has been swiping my spot lately. Coming to the bottom of the steps, I see him bent under the propped-up hood of an antique car. Climbing a few of the stairs, I decide to turn and look down at him. We have not officially met, but we do see one another every once in a while.

He seems quiet and pretty nice— far from what I am used to regarding people. The prison is loud, my friends are loud, the world is even noisier. Not this guy though, he keeps to himself, and even the Chevy Nova he is working on isn’t so obnoxious when he starts it that it shakes the windows.

“Hi,” I blurt out before I can stop myself.

He jump and smack the back of his head on the inside of the hood, instinctively reaching to rub it as he comes out from under the metal. When he turns, I look over him; jeans hanging low on his hips, a too tight t-shirt that hugs every damn muscle in his arms. Hurricane grey eyes stare up at me, chocolate colored hair tied back out of his face.

He’s attractive, though older than me, but I can’t say much, Kace has several years on me but this guy doesn’t seem to have much more.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You’re alright, I wasn’t expecting anyone to be behind me. Getting a little rusty, I guess.”

“I like your car. It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you, I’m rebuilding it for my son, Deke.”

“Your son? I’ve not seen any kids around here.”

“Ahh, yeah, he lives with his mom on the other side of the country. Military family, they move around a lot.”

“I see, how old is your son?”

“Sixteen.”

“You’re giving this to him? Don’t you think it may be a little too powerful for a boy his age?”

“You’re right, but no, he has plans to follow his grandpa into the Marines, so I’m building it for him, for when he graduates basic training.”

That thought brings a smile to my face for some reason. Though I’ve never experienced parents that care for me in such a way, it was nice to see others doing what they could to show their children that they are proud of their accomplishments.

“I’m Nadia, by the way. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too, sweetheart. Say, you’re the Correctional Officer that lives on property, right?”

“I am.” I reply, unsure where he is going with that.

“My father was a guard for all my life. He was killed about seven years ago in a riot. He loved what he did, when I get to thinking about him, it reminds me that you live here.”

“Yeah, it’s harsh work but you see people change. Sometimes for the worst, sometimes for the better.”

Looking down at the mail in my hands, I can’t decide if I am talking about myself in that moment or the inmates I see day in and day out. Instead of commenting further, I hook my thumb over my shoulder and point up the stairs.

“I better get going, it was a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr.”

“Name’s Max. Max Carter.”

“Max. You have a good day.”

“You too, Nadia.”

I scale the stairs until I get to my unit, unlocking the door and stepping into the warmth of my apartment. Lush welcome mat under my boots silencing my entry. I stop by an entry table and take off my shoes, dropping them there next to my guard ones.

Looking at the polished leather, I suck in a deep breath still smelling the smoke in the threads of my clothes. I need to get out of them and get showered, make something to eat before settling in for the rest of the day.

A part of me wants to tell Kace about the incident with my father, to see if he is as proud of me as I am. I may not have handled things in the most logical way but the weight has been lifted nonetheless, and for the first time in my life I feel free.