Calluses Pt. 08: Hard

Russell's hand came down on her bare shoulder, firm and heavy. "Shelby...now ain't the time. Go do your thing, okay? I'll call you if I need you, but don't wait up. Okay?"

"Oh, fine!" She stood up straight again, tits perked, and finished her beer. "Needed another one anyway," she told no one in particular, and her eyes were still on me...but they weren't trying to tempt me into anything lewd, I realized. She was totally sober, figuring me out, now deciding I wasn't a threat after all. I'd have noticed all that, if I hadn't been so busy staring down her shirt. I looked back at the table, feeling like a rookie, an ignorant child.

"And Shelby -" he barked after her, south Georgian twang more potent with his anger. "You'd better delete those fuckin pictures of me off your fuckin Facebook or whatever - you hear me, girl? I'm serious!"

She waved her empty bottle at him as she danced her way back to the bar, nodding her head - or bobbing it to the new track that blared over the speakers, I couldn't tell which. She was running her manicured fingernails over the shoulder of a brawny guy at the bar, both of them smiling, like she'd already forgotten we existed.

He settled into the booth with an angry sigh, letting it go...and then his eyes were back on mine. Boring into me...but there was no suspicion this time. "Sorry about her," he muttered, and it sounded like he meant it. "She can be...overprotective. Just how it is with us, but she don't mean no harm. If I've got a friend in this world, she's it..."

He blinked and shook his head, as if he didn't know why he was telling me this. "Forget it, though. You still ain't answered me, not near enough - so talk to me. Tell me why you're here."

Now or never...

I took a deep breath, let it out...and the world outside the booth faded into thumping gloom, a deepening void. I stared down at my open hands, flat on the table, and began to speak.

"I got...I got pulled over back in January, right before that big blizzard touched down, when I was...when I was driving back to college. Down in, uh...down near Meter. Georgia." I glanced at him, but his face gave nothing away. "I guess you know what...what happened. Who the cop was, I mean. He was...Pruitt. Chief Pruitt. That's his name, if uh...if you didn't know. He...well, he told me if I didn't go to his house the next weekend and let him - let him do whatever he wanted...to do..." My voice was weak, thin. I was a shade, a wraith, watching myself say things I'd been determined to take to my grave. "I thought I could take it, but he, uhm...he scared the shit out of me, you know? And I didn't think he'd stop after the weekend was over - no, fuck it, I knew he wasn't gonna stop, so...I put a bunch of allergy meds in his drink, and I tied him up when he was passed out - but he wasn't asleep, not really. He was like, pretending to snore - you know? Stupid. And he almost got me - messed me up pretty bad, actually - but I kicked the shit out of him, broke my toe even - and I got away! I fucking got away...and I took it with me, so he wouldn't come after me again. Me or anybody else. His laptop, I mean. The one with the...with..." My fingers were blurring into pale white smears, melting into the table. I didn't sound like myself. Every part of me was shivering, quaking. I couldn't find any more words...

A hand was on my shoulder, firm and heavy. "Not here, man." His voice was soft and steady, almost a whisper.

I wiped my eyes, glanced at him again. He still had the same flat, steely expression on his face. He scanned the room until he saw Shelby dancing with the brawny guy, oblivious...and then he was patting my shoulder until I got up, laptop in hand...and then I was following him out into the twilight, the thrashing music of the bar sucked down into a low, muffled thrum...until there was only the sound of car engines, and distant conversations, and our boots crunching against the gravel. He was leading me with a hand on my back, right between my shoulder blades, and I knew he could feel my heart hammering under my spine...knew he could feel every last tremor that ricocheted through me, pushing me towards a breaking point I didn't even know was there. My chest was tightening up, pounding with my pulse, and my throat felt like it was cramping - about to explode.

He was saying something. "Where's your car? Shelby was my ride - is that it?" He was pointing at my old sedan, urging me onward, and I gave a robotic nod. He looked at me when we reached my car, slowing down - really looked at me. "Right. Give me your keys, man. It's okay."

I handed them over, because it was the only thing I could manage...and then his hand was on the back of my head, steady and gentle, until I ducked into the passenger seat.

The doors shut, and the world went quiet. He was behind the wheel now, checking the mirrors, adjusting the seat until it fit him...but I barely noticed. I was crushing the laptop against my chest like a stiff teddy bear, leaning against the door, watching the pink neon and the shadowy clumps of drunken men pull away and pass me by, asphalt rumbling beneath the wheels...and then I realized I was crying. Weeping right there next to him in hitched, bloated sobs that shook my entire body. I had no idea when I'd started, or how long I'd been carrying on, and it didn't matter now. The dam had finally collapsed after all these months of keeping it in, checking every empty street corner for his shadow, a hulking form that knew my scent...and now it was free, bursting out of me with a vengeance - flooding me, drowning me - and there was nothing to do but let it take me down with it.

He didn't say a word to me, just drove. We soon left the seedy strip, and passed beyond the sleeping industrial stain at the ass-end of Akerton. The roads became rough and narrow as we drove further up into the mountains, higher and higher with each sharp turn, the impenetrable forest closing in like the throat of a cosmic python...until we made a final turn, and the road dipped down into bowl-shaped field, barely a valley at all, and the trees were gone, and the sky was clear and bright with stars. Rows of trailers with glowing windows on either side of the road, a charming variety of sizes and shapes and colors, overgrown yards brimming with shadowy herb gardens, and lawn ornaments, and crooked satellite dishes...

We left these behind as well, and followed a long dirt driveway to a lone trailer at the farthest edge of the moonlit field. It was low and wide in the glare of the headlights, cream-colored with dark green trimmings, windows black. A massive oak loomed next to it, protecting it with heavy branches, just as isolated from its own brethren at the treeline beyond. He parked my car in front of the locked sliding door of a bulky, freestanding garage beside the trailer, next to a hearty black pickup truck that shined in the dark; his own, I assumed.

He let the engine die, and the car sank back down into silence. I was done sobbing by then, and a large part of me felt better, somehow...but I was also sober now, terribly sober, and I felt empty. Pathetic. I'd spent months imagining our meeting going all kinds of ways - violent, polite, hideously awkward. I'd even dared to imagine something sexy, and strange...but not this. Not breaking down in front of him right at the start, crying like a fucking baby. I should never have tried to put it into words, never told him any of those bitter, ugly details. What was the point?

The cab light flashed on when he took the keys from the ignition, exposing everything. I glanced at him, though I was almost afraid to. He held me with a steady gaze, pressing my keys against his thigh, tracing the key ring with the pad of his thumb like he didn't know he was doing it, a nervous tick...and his eyes were full of a terrible, naked sympathy that cut right down to the bone - nothing like they'd been across the table, at the bar, before my armor cracked. I almost wanted the suspicion instead, the open mistrust. It'd be so much easier than being...seen.

"Come on in," was all he said. The keys were back in my hand, and the car beeped when I locked it up. I was out in the thick, cooling air of the evening, still clutching the laptop against my chest like it might fly away. The alien tide of crickets and cicadas swelled, muffling our footfalls and my thoughts. I followed his dark form up the rickety wooden steps to the porch, watched him unlock the screen door to reveal the cold black maw of his home...and then he flipped the lights on, and the world was golden again.

*The trailer's interior wasn't all that remarkable. A wide room dominated by a brown, spongy-looking sofa, covered in crumpled throws and mismatched pillows...a smeared cherrywood coffee table buried under a mound of empty bottles, and gift shop coasters, and a giant bong of swirling, blue-green glass...a television and a pair of gaming consoles on top of a shelf stocked with games and old DVDs, blatant relics of a simpler time, but humanizing all the same. A small kitchen to the left, and a metal rack stuffed with healthy potted plants, mostly rich green succulents. A yawning hallway beyond the sofa led to a shadowy bathroom, a closed bedroom door, and everything smelled of incense, and soil, and smoky, hidden musk.

"Sorry..." he muttered. He grabbed a trash bag from the kitchen, and filled the room with a teeth-grinding racket as he swiped the bottles off the coffee table. He picked up stray wrappers from the floor as he went, stashed the bong in a corner, and then everything was clean enough. He tied off the garbage bag, tendons flexing under the skin of his arms, face red and tight-lipped with suitably mild embarrassment.

"Have a seat, man." He pushed the pillows aside and motioned to the plush, inviting cushions of the couch below. I sat down, sinking in as he went back into the kitchen. There was more clinking glass, cabinets opening and closing, but I didn't bother to look. I didn't know what was happening now, why he'd brought me here...but again, I didn't care. I should have wanted it to be over...but it wasn't, and I was glad for it.

He set a sloshing bottle of expensive tequila on the table in front of me, along with a pair of tall, hand-blown shot glasses. It felt like a bounty, a special occasion...but not a happy one, exactly. He kicked off his clunky boots and turned on a couple of lamps before he killed the harsh overhead lights. plunging the room into a haze of mild, cozy glows...and then he finally sat down next to me on the sofa, the entire thing sinking beneath my ass.

He let out a long, weary sigh. "Hope you like tequila." He uncapped the liquor and poured us each a huge shot, and handed me one. "This stuff's really made for sipping, but...you should just toss the whole thing back, okay?" He watched me as he tilted his head back, and his own shot vanished down his throat. I did the same - and coughed when it was done, beating my chest with my fist. It wasn't harsh, really - more like thick, vaguely sweet nectar - but it burned, and it was a lot. It was already warming my insides, spreading like soothing syrup, unwinding my muscles, my nerves, my brain...

He patted my back. "Good man." He was already pouring two more, just as brimming as the first. "Take your time on this one, okay? No rush..."

"I'm..." I coughed again and caught my breath, head swimming. "I'm not in a hurry," I managed. My hands weren't shaking anymore. Nothing was.

He smirked to himself, screwing the cap back on. He sipped a drop from his glass...and then he was looking at me. Really looking at me.

I realized I was doing the same, and I felt my face flush red. I turned my attention back to the shot glass on the table...the laptop on the floor underneath. I nudged it with the toe of my boot, wishing it didn't exist.

"We're all alone out here, you know," he was saying, in a measured way. "Nobody from the trailer park ever bothers me. They're all pretty good people..." It was his turn to blush now, as his own words hung in the air. "Er - what I mean is, you can say whatever you gotta say now, and nobody's gonna hear it but me - and I ain't gonna think any less of you, for whatever shitty reasons people think ignorant shit like that...er...I wasn't tryin to come on to you or anything, just now...aw, fuck."

He took another sip of tequila, a bigger one, and I realized his hands were trembling. "Shit man - I'm not tryin to be confusing. I ain't ever done this before, you get me? You came outta nowhere! Not that - not that it's a bother. Honest. Anybody knows where you're at right now, it's me, and vice versa maybe - but you do get me, right? I wasn't trying to...uh...suggest anything. I like women..."

I cocked my head. "So do I...?"

He cringed and squeezed his eyes shut, like he wanted to crawl out of his own skin. "I mean, not that - I'm only saying..." He let out a shaky sigh. "Help me out here, man..."

A fluttery swarm of butterflies rose in the pit of my stomach, something I hadn't felt in a long time. "I get it." My voice was finally steady, free of lurking tears. "Safe place. Totally get it. And thanks a lot. You didn't have to do any of this...could've just taken the laptop and run, you know? I kind of thought you might, and that would've been okay...understandable..." Was I rambling? I was rambling...

"Nah." He grinned, but it was almost bashful. Barely there. "I ain't a pussy like that. I didn't know what the hell to make of you, when Boe pointed you out. But I saw you standing up to Jonas, ready to bust up his ugly face with that glass, and I knew you weren't just some dumb kid. He may be a mean, sloppy drunk...but he scares the pants off a lot of grown men when he gets in a mood like that, and for good reason. You're lucky he ain't part of the club, or you'dve had more than just him to deal with..."

"What's 'the club?'" It was the safest thing I could ask.

He looked surprised for a moment, like I'd asked him what breathing was, but he smiled. "You really put yourself out there coming to find me, huh? The club is a...er...just a bunch of guys with similar interests. Mainly motorcycles and uh...business ventures. They run that bar, and plenty of others. Ain't nearly as bad as some, but they do not fuck around."

"Ah...got it." I kept drinking, feeling like a naïve idiot for the tenth time.

He was still smiling. "Hey, you handled yourself just fine. Did right, not lettin him bully you out into the street. Nobody to yank on his leash out there, and he probably would've...he's just not a man to fool around with, you know? But you ain't either, I guess...I know the look a man gets when he's ready to end a fight before it starts, and you definitely had it. You're a lot harder than you seem, I think."

I took another swig and let the cleansing nectar slide down my throat like a balm, because I had no idea what to say. The swarm in my gut had tripled in size when he called me a man, made me tingle all over with something like pride, until I was almost sick with it. I'd forgotten all about crying in the car.

He smiled half to himself, the drinks hitting us both. "Anyway...did you really break your toe from kicking him?" He took another sip, grimaced. "You know...him?"

"Yeah. Just my pinky toe, though. Nothing crazy." I smiled with him. "Actually, I uh...I broke his nose, too. When he was tied up and, uh...trying to take me down. Knocked out his front tooth, on top of it. With a big iron skillet."

It actually felt good to admit that gory little detail to someone, to say it out loud...almost as good as it felt to hear him burst into a fit of laughter next to me. He threw his head back and howled for a glowing, glorious instant, and whatever tension was left in the room vanished for good. I was transfixed by the sight and sound of him, happy eyes crinkled at the edges, so bright and alive...

"You are goddamnshitting me!" he wailed between heaving, boyish giggles. He collapsed back into the sofa, wiping tears from his eyes. "That - that's fuckin amazing! You're a regular badass, ain't you? Pretty boy bruiser!" His voice was giddy, like music, and for a moment the stained concrete of Meter seemed like a parallel dimension, a dream of another life.

He cackled even harder when I told him how I'd tricked the Chief into getting wasted on wine and benadryl, how I'd tied him up when he passed out, the same way he'd done me...how I'd punched his nuts into jelly and kicked them like a soccer ball while he tried to crawl away...but the laughter was dying the longer I spoke. I couldn't stop, didn't want to. He listened with a stony frown as I recounted the rest of those awful predawn moments...right down to the knee crushing my windpipe, the teeth sinking into my skin...and then I was telling him about the beatings, big and small, the way he'd turned me into a thing, more or less...the way he'd tricked me into thinking I deserved it...even tricked me into wanting it. I even told him about the creeping terror that nibbled at the edges of the world ever since, the worst thing of all. How I went to bed every night knowing I might wake up with his giant hand clamped down over my mouth, the barrel of a gun digging into my temple. Ready to die, every second of every day...

"He was a sick fuckin bastard," Russell snarled under his breath, before I had a chance to wonder if I'd said too much again. "Lots of people are into all kinds of kinky shit. Rough stuff, bondage, whatever else...but it ain't supposed to be like that. Not ever. What he did to you was ugly, and selfish, and fucked up." He was searching my face. "It was wrong. You understand that, right? Like, really get it?"

I nodded, thinking I did...but the room was quiet now. Smothered. He glared at the wall as he finished his second shot, and I watched him do it. I liked the way his Adam's apple bobbed under the coppery stubble of his throat...

I was barely keeping myself in check. The alcohol was making it hard to keep things polite - that, and all the rest. I still wanted him. I didn't care if we both liked women, didn't care if he was a guy - I'd never cared about that. Not since the first time I'd seen his frightened, wide-eyed visage on that monstrous television screen, or any time after. I wanted to feel his skin against mine, hear his voice melt for me instead, for all the good it would do...

He nudged the laptop under the coffee table with his toe, reminding me why I'd come here in the first place. "Did you, uh...did you watch it?" His voice was smaller, apologetic somehow, like he was sorry he had to bring it up.

I swallowed a knot in my throat. "He showed it to me."

His face hardened up as the blood drained out of it, frowning. "How much?"

"He only showed me the first one. The first...half of it. To scare me, I think." The space between us was lurching, widening into a gulf. "I, uh...I did watch the last one, though."

His head shot up, glaring into me now - fire and disgust, pure condemnation - and it scared me.

Idiot!

I could barely hear myself over the roar of blood between my ears, but I tried to tell him why. Tried to tell him just how screwed up I was back then, at my lowest. How the world seemed so fake, like a movie. How I never thought I'd actually meet him in person some day. I was desperate for any evidence I could use to put the Chief away for good, something even worse than what I already had...so I'd watched it, to see if he was alive at the end. Because the Chief only talked about him in the past tense, and called him special. The same thing he'd called me, but worse. I even tried to tell him how relieved I'd been to know he'd survived his ordeal, how it was the one thing that broke the suffocating spell I was under...but my voice was wavering again, and I couldn't look him in the eye.