The Mute and the Menace Page 2

  They don't look bad. They've been having fun. They're not being shoved in closets or having cigarettes put out on their back or being yelled or swore at by their dads.

  No, they seem okay.

  I nod my head, walk back over and get ready to sit down when I hear my name being yelled.

  "Jackson!" My spine snaps straight, and I look over at my two new friends who are eyeing me curiously.

  "I've got to go." I don't waste another second. I know the tone in his voice. I race back into my house, and see my dad waiting at the front door.

  "See what time it is?" He growls in a low voice.

  I gulp and look over at the time. It couldn't have been an hour already. Or has it?

  He slams his hand on the counter. "When I ask you to be home at a certain time. That means be home on time. Do you fucking hear me? Just because we moved to this new place doesn't mean you get to go live free." He gets a nasty smile on his face as he takes a step closer. "You'll never be free of me, boy. Never."

  Boy.

  He punches me in my already bruised side, and I swallow down the whimper begging to fall out.

  "You better not say anything about Wren, either. Don't want no one knowing you're a murderer. The last thing I need is people looking at me sideways like they did back in Iowa. You keep your mouth shut, you hear? I can always grab a needle and thread and stitch it shut so you can't speak. Or, better yet, I can grab those cigarettes you like and melt your lips together like fucking glue. You want that boy?"

  I tremble under his gaze and shake my head no.

  "I asked you a question boy, speak!" He hits me again. Same spot.

  This time, I can't control the oomph that breaks free. "Y-yes, sir."

  "Good. Not one fucking word, Jackson. Not one word. Now go fucking unpack the car. But unpack everyone else's shit first. You can sleep on the floor tonight if you don't get it done."

  I did end up sleeping on the floor that night. And many nights after that. The beatings didn't stop after we moved to Minnesota. They did grow less frequently, and for that I'm grateful. It wasn't because my dad stopped being an ass. It was because he became busier with the business and was home less often. My mom didn't stop the drugs. If anything, she became more addicted because it was at her beck and call whenever she needed it.

  Easton and Logan brought me into their circle, and even though it's always been tight between us three, I can't help but feel I've always been a loner.

  Unwanted. Worthless.

  My dad beat it into my nightly to not say anything about Wren. He beat me so hard about it that now I barely want to say anything at all.

  So, I don't.

  I don't speak about Wren. I don't speak about anything. I speak when I need to. Otherwise, I keep my mouth shut. Less chance of someone thinking there's something wrong with me. Less of a chance I make a mistake and get beat for it.

  The business ended up being something I found a liking to. It's something that I enjoy doing, and something that keeps my mind out of the rollercoaster that it's constantly on. When I'm working in the business, I can keep my mind focused on getting shit done, going home, repeat. No time for screwing shit up.

  As the years go on, words become less frequent.

  People end up calling me,

  The Mute.

  1

  Cara

  Before

  If someone would have asked me a week ago how I was doing, I would have smiled. Laughed, probably. Because for the first time in my life, everything was perfect.

  Life was perfect.

  I had a badass bestie that had my back. I don’t remember the last time I actually had a bestie. Never, really. The girls here are catty and backstab you the moment you close your eyes to sneeze. They don’t give a shit about you, where you came from, or the amount of change in your back pocket. They know they’re going to end up being the waitress at the diner next to the truck stop a few towns over or cashier at one of the local gas stations. Or maybe they’re the roughest ones in this town working the strip club or collecting food stamps and free housing.

  Anyway, the moment my best friend Rose walked into town, I knew she was it. She was the real deal. Her and her shitty attitude was a million times better than all the other girls’ shitty attitudes around here. At least with Rose, she wasn’t naïve enough to think this place is the shit.

  Because it’s not. It sucks and so does the majority of people living in it.

  Besides Rose, I had Logan.

  My love, who I never really loved until it was too late.

  By the time my heart collided with his, he was already sand running through my fingertips. I only had a moment to enjoy our happiness before he was ripped out of my life.

  I’ve known him since I was in elementary school. I was the girl in the trailer park to tag along with the boys until one of them not so kindly barked at me to fuck off. With slumped shoulders, I’d walked back to my front patio and watch the boys have fun from afar. No one wanted the scraggly girl to follow along with them like a lost puppy.

  They would always try and beat me down and shoo me away. But the thing is, the next day I’d throw on my worn tennis shoes and start all over again.

  I had nothing better to do.

  My mother was never home. When I was a child both her and my father would barely pass me a glance as they went about their lives. They’d leave me with one of the neighbors more often than not and go and enjoy their day. Then out of nowhere, my father stopped coming around. Come to find out he went to prison. Burglary, they say.

  He’s been out for years, and I’ve tried to get in touch with him on multiple accounts, but I guess going to prison is like hitting the refresh button on your life, right?

  He must think that the moment you get locked up, you don’t need to be a father anymore.

  Whatever. Not like he would win a Father of the Year award, anyway.

  My mother didn’t seem to care much that he left, either. Because not too long after my dad left, my stepfather, Jed, came into the picture. That’s when my life really got interesting.

  I was old enough where I didn’t need a babysitter anymore. Mom and Jed would go out without knowing if I was fed or if I was even alive. They just did what they want and paid me no mind.

  I think Logan and Easton realized this, because slowly they let me start hanging out with them. Grungy me, with my snarled hair and my clothes filled with holes and two sizes too small.

  I was grateful because I think without those two, I probably would have withered away and died of starvation in my home.

  Once we hit middle school, the boys started figuring out the difference between boys and girls, and it was no longer cool for me to tag along with them.

  So, it was back to solitude for me. My mom and Jed started coming around more, and I thought, at first, this was a good thing. Maybe I could use all this extra time and spend it with my family.

  Not.

  Mom would go and work at the bar, and Jed started getting too comfortable around me.

  The first time he yelled at me for not picking up after he made a mess with his pizza boxes, I basically laughed in his face.

  I snorted and shook my head, ignoring him as I walked back to my room.

  It wasn’t until I felt radiating pain in my skull that I realized he struck me.

  With the fucking TV remote.

  I looked over my shoulder at him with shock, anger, and worry. I’ve never been hit in my life, and to be hit by this piece of garbage who isn’t even my own father was appalling.

  Without a second thought, I swung around and was ready to give him back a hit just as hard when he grabbed my wrist and swung me around, pressing me up against the counter. “Don’t you dare even think about doing something so stupid.” He then told me to clean up and not smart back on him again or else there will be even bigger consequences.

  His lingering hands and hot gaze were enough to send shivers down my spine not once, but twice.

  Over the
years, he never did touch me or do anything to me sexually. But his gazes and threats were enough to scare me shitless.

  It was enough to scare me into my room for all through middle school, until I turned into enough of a soulless shell that all I could do was become hard.

  So hard that no one would even attempt to fuck with me at school. Not one person. I got into enough scrappy fights that most people just decide to avoid me all together.

  That was fine with me, because I wasn’t planning to be in this shit town a moment after I graduated.

  Then Rose came along. And with Rose, came Easton. With Easton, came Logan.

  Logan.

  He was something that I never knew I was missing. I would hear the jokes between the boys over the years that Logan was in love with me. But why would he be in love with me and never say anything?

  Who would ever be in love with someone like me, anyway? Someone in dusty gray clothes that were too small because I couldn’t even afford to buy something from the Goodwill. I mean, it’s not like anyone really has money in the Grove. But I was the kind of poor that you turned away from. The kind that even the poor cringed at.

  Once Logan started showing me interest, I only really went along with it because it’s fucking Logan. He’s one of the untouchable in this town, and although I never thought we would be anything more, he would at least be a fun lay.

  He became more.

  When he told me he loved me, I didn’t believe him at first. I thought he was just trying to be a jackass. He’s fooled around countless times and left a stray of trashy whores in his wake. Why the hell would he fall in love with me?

  Then suddenly, things changed. Rose and Easton started getting more serious, and Logan started hanging around me more. He gave me those lingering stares, the flirtatious smirks, and I just knew.

  They've been right all along. Logan digs me. He does love me.

  I never even gave myself a moment to entertain the idea of us together. The thought was enough for me to laugh at the person in the face and walk the other way. But when he started noticing me, I started noticing him.

  And then I really noticed him.

  His blonde hair shined brighter. His eyes burned into the deepest parts of me. His touch lit me on fire. We fell into the deep end of love quicker than I can blink. It was like one day, I was floating through life, and the next second, I slammed into life.

  Life was wonderful.

  I can tell the moment we got together that it was meant to be. We were meant to be. It might have been fast, or some might think we were too young, but at the end of the day, his soul spoke to my soul.

  Our love was eternal.

  Until it wasn't.

  The boys headed off to Wisconsin to do some business, that once again, I had no idea what that entailed. All I did know was that it was dangerous, and one hundred percent illegal. So, I kept my mind out of it, rode him like it was our last night on earth and gave him a lingering kiss goodbye.

  Little did I know, it would be one of his last nights on earth.

  Rose came over shortly after they left for Wisconsin, putting in this niggling doubt in me that our men are destructible. I brushed her aside because I had not even a slight thought in my mind that something would happen to them. Until that doubt started worming its way through me, so much that I was filled with doubt and insecurities that something was wrong.

  Something was wrong.

  Everything is a blur from that moment. It's like time sped up through different moments and paused on others. I barely remember going to Easton's house. He was such a jackass, but all I wanted was to see Logan. The next thing I know, I see Collin, Logan's dad, hunched over a body that I know every nook, curve, and ridge of, and life stopped.

  Life stopped for good.

  Watching the other half of my soul, pale, lifeless and covered in blood is something I'll never forget. I'll never forget clinging to him for hours, squeezing, and hugging, and kissing him, pleading for just one sign in return.

  He died while trying to protect his friends. He died fighting for the family business. He was shot by a rival, and I was left behind.

  I'm always left behind.

  My entire life, people have left me. My dad, my mom, my stepdad (don't care about him too much), and now Logan.

  I'm destined to be alone forever. There's no point in even trying at this point, because the next person is going to leave me, too.

  Since Logan died, I've drowned myself in bottles of liquor. It's the only thing at this point that numbs the tearing apart of my limbs. Not actually, but it feels that way, to be honest.

  Fast forward to now, and I feel underwater. The amount of liquor I've consumed over the last few days has made my body feel heavy and slow. The only thing that moves fast are my tears. My tears seem endless, and no amount of liquor or Puffs Kleenex is going to make them stop.

  I stare into the massive hole in front of me and think about hiding in one of the dark corners when they start burying him. They would never know, and by the time they found me, I'd already be dead. I just don't want to live anymore. I don't want to go on without Logan.

  Glancing behind me, I see the remnants of Logan’s funeral reception, or party, or whatever, start to thin out. Finally. I contemplate turning around and keep drinking, but I've had way too much to drink as it is. It's time to take my ass to bed.

  I start my walk home, and when I'm turning the corner to my street, I hear footsteps behind me. I stiffen and slowly start to look over my shoulder. You can never be careful in this neighborhood. Not during the day, and especially not at night. The type of people that walk in this neighborhood are never up to any good. I usually carry a small blade on me, but I'm fucking stupid and forgot my purse at home.

  I shake my head at myself in disgust. I know better.

  What I see when I look over my shoulder makes me drop my shoulders about five inches.

  Jackson.

  He doesn't realize I'm in front of him from the looks of it. His eyes are mostly closed as he drags one foot in front of the other. He runs into the neighbor's tin trash can, knocking it over and making it clatter all over the ground. But he just keeps walking, not sparing it a glance or reaching down to pick it up.

  I scoff and shake my head at him as he approaches. What the fuck?

  He's walking more horizontally than vertically at this point, and I'd laugh at him if I wasn't so numb.

  He's just steps from bumping into me when I stagger back and yell, "Jackson!"

  His eyes fly open and he almost falls over at my voice. When his vision clears and he sees its me, his eyes go flat along with the rest of his face.

  He turns away from me and continues on his walk to his house, but I can tell his limp is getting to him.

  See, the night Logan died, Jackson was also shot. He almost didn't make it, but he pulled through. Every time I've seen Jackson, he's been trying to hide his limp that I know he doesn't want anyone to notice. I notice it though, because the pain on his face is so similar to the pain I know is written on my own face.

  I'm not sure if it’s from the pain or his intoxication, but on the next step his legs give out and he falls to the ground. He lets out a small grunt, but otherwise doesn't say anything.

  Walk away. Walk away.

  I so badly just want to leave him here. He's not my problem. Not like he's ever helped me out in any way. I think he's only spoken to me a handful of times since I met him. Five years ago.

  But, my inability to walk away from someone hurting is just in my blood. I may be scrappy, but my heart is a fucking pillow.

  "Come on, idiot. Let's go." I walk over to him and grab him by the arm. I use all my might, but I'm barely able to lift him even an inch off the ground. "You're going to have to help me up here, Jackson. I can't lift your heavy ass myself."

  For fear he's actually fallen asleep, I get close to his ear and shout, "Jackson!"

  He twitches, giving away the fact that he was starting to doze off.

/>   "Help me get you into your house, or else you'll be sleeping outside and who knows what neighbor will be leering on you tonight. Maybe Patty from the corner will feel you up as the sun comes up."

  With those words, he lugs himself to a standing and leans most of his weight on my shoulder. Fuck, that hurts. Jackson is big, and by big, I mean he's one tall ass mother fucker. At over six feet, you wouldn't think he's in high school. He is, though. And although he isn't as muscular as Easton, or even like Logan was, he's still defined and obviously works out.

  I can tell, because as I carry him into his house, I can feel each and every ab muscle flex and move against my hand as I try to keep him steady.

  Once we get to his front door, I nudge him in front of me. "You're home. Go inside." He walks up his steps and opens the door, not sparing me a grunt or a glance as he walks inside and kicks it shut behind him. I stand and stare at his closed door for a second until I hear a loud crash.

  I run inside Jackson's house without even knocking. "What the hell!"I screech.

  Jackson stands in the kitchen with a bottle of whiskey in his hands and he drains the last few drops. Blood drips down his wrist and manages to make a trail all the way down his forearm, hanging on for a few seconds and then escaping and splashing onto his faded linoleum floor.

  I realize this is the first time I've ever been inside his house. He's never let people in before. He’s barely even let people even look inside before. The only time I've stood at his front door was when Easton and Logan came over, and I kid you not, Jackson peeked open the door, saw it was us, and opened the door only enough for him to slide out of. Never even saw a glimpse of his house.

  Which doesn't make a whole lot of sense, since it's not like his house is much different from the rest of ours. Inside the front door sits the living room, and directly off to the left side is the kitchen. The carpet is dark and worn, and the kitchen has light wood throughout with white counter tops that are chipped in more places than I can count. None of that matters, though, because my home doesn't look any different. Neither does Easton's, and neither did Logan's.