Page 70 of Broken Discipline

I gritted my teeth. He was always saying things like that, and though sometimes it comforted me, I knew it was bullshit. My mother said stuff like that too, promising me that everything was fine now, that she was happy with me, but she always said those things right before she disappeared again. It was one giant lie. How could it be true?He was leaving.I couldn’t talk to him. How could he possibly take care of me?

How could I trust that he would come back?

“Then give me your new phone number,” I challenged.

He shook his head. “It’s for your safety. Trust me on this.”

Trust me.

I closed my eyes again, trying to make myself trust him. But no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t let go. I couldn’t trust in a future I didn’t understand.

“How can you be so sure?” I whispered.

“My promise is my word,” he said, his tone stern. He held my face, his fingertips digging into my cheeks. “And if I fail you, Kylie, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. Giving you everything you deserve. I swear it.”

I closed my eyes, burying my face in his chest, letting those spiky shaven chest hairs scratch my face. I nodded, but it was all lies.

***

three and a half months later

I slammed my tray on the waitress station, using it to steady myself.

“Another Hurricane, a Bloody Mary, two Dirty Martinis, two Bud Lights, and six Jägermeister shots,” I shouted.

Bunny’s jaw dropped. “They’re serious? They want to follow that with fuckingJäger?”

I shrugged, then covered my mouth. Even the thought of alcohol made me want to puke lately, which was miserable when you worked in a bikini bar. I shook my head, trying to say the words, but nothing came out.

Bunny lifted a hand to stop me. “All right, all right, all right,” she moaned. “On it.”

Blister, our local drug lord, slid his stool closer to me.

“Kylie, babe,” he said, wagging a finger at me.

I left my tray on the bar and slowly turned toward him. “What’s up?”

“Where did my cut go?”

I swallowed my breath, trying to keep it together. In the panic of trying to sell drugs for the first time, while dealing with vomiting and brain fog, I had lost his meth like an idiot. Blister’s lips peeled back, his white teeth gleaming like porcelain, like he was hiding something. My stomach dropped, instinct swelling inside of me.

Had he stolen his own drugs back from me?

“You don’t have it?” I asked cautiously.

“Now why the fuck would I be asking for my cut if I still had the product?” he said. “You’re getting dumber by the second.”

I gritted my teeth. A few months ago, I would have told him to get the hell out of the bar. But a few months ago, I also wouldn’t have taken meth from a drug dealer, thinking I could sell it and get a better place for me and my unborn twins. Fuckingtwins.How was I supposed to provide for twins when I lived above a bar with my best friend?

I leaned on the counter too, trying to steady myself. “Once I find it, I’ll—”

“I bet she smoked it all herself,” another customer rasped out. “Hotboxing with Bunny out in the parking lot.”

Bunny scowled at him. “You fucking shit head. You probably stole it.”

The customer shook his head. “I don’t do meth, bitch.”

“Every junkie in Oakmont does meth.”