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“It’s got indoor plumbing, bonus,” Carter calls and I hear the toilet flush.
“Smells a bit dusty,” I comment, running my fingers along a shelf above my head. “But it’ll do.”
It has just a four-seater booth table, kitchen opposite, cabinets lining the ceiling, there’s a closet to the right and to the left is the door to a small double room and another closet, then the toilet and shower.
“It’s nothing like your old house,” I mutter. “But it’s rent free and it’s a ten-minute ride to Paisley.”
“Five,” Carter comments. “You’re just slow as fuck.”
“Fuck you,” I snap at him, but I’m only joking.
“There is a comfy-looking bed back there.”
Presley stomps past us and starts opening and closing the cabinets. His eyes light up when he finds a bottle of Jack, seal broken but probably still drinkable.
He twists off the cap and takes a healthy swig, then he points at Carter. “Stay the fuck outta my bed.” Then he smiles charmingly at me. “You can climb in it anytime you want to.”
“Give me that,” I mumble and yank the bottle from his hand. I down a few gulps and gasp, then almost puke, but I manage to keep it down.
“Stop laughing.” I hand the bottle to Carter.
“I’m driving.”
“Stay here,” I suggest. “So Presley doesn’t have to be alone on his first night.”
“Not a bad idea.” Carter sniffs the amber liquid via the neck of the bottle and mentally prepares himself. “Want me to, bro?”
“Fuck yeah,” Presley replies and they slap hands and fist-bump. “Reckon I could rig my room up with a TV and PS4?”
“Xbox, man, Xbox.”
Smiling, I watch Carter take a healthy swig and react the same way as me. “That’s vile,” he chokes, his voice no more than a rasp. “My mouth burns. Kiss me better.”
I giggle and drink more after Presley, then answer, “You heard him, Pres. Kiss him better.”
Presley gags much like we did after our first sip.
The third and fourth go down much better.
We sit on the benches, Carter beside me and Presley opposite.
“Can you believe that just a month ago we hated each other?” I tease, feeling the buzz of the alcohol thrumming through my happy head. “And two months ago I was in a straitjacket. Well… not really… but almost.”
“Why did you get put in a mental hospital?” Carter asks and I watch Presley spin a coin between his finger and the glossy surface of the table.
“Do you really want to get into that now?” I ask, taking the bottle and drinking more. “Seriously?”
“You’ve got to tell somebody, right?” Presley asks, still spinning the coin.
“Not here.” I hold the neck of the bottle and nod to the door. “Because then this will always be the place I told you.”
They don’t argue, they follow me back out into the junkyard. We keep passing the bottle back and forth until we find a comfy place to stand. I lean against a truck, looking up at the stars which are spinning overhead.
“I feel like I’m on a carousel,” I whisper and Carter kisses my jaw. My mind snaps back to the reason we’re here. “If I tell you both this, you have to pinkie swear that you won’t tell a soul. If he finds out, it won’t just be me who suffers. He’ll make everyone I love pay to make himself look like the victim.”
“Your uncle?” Carter questions and I nod while holding my pinkies out to them. They both take one each and I grin at my crossed arms and their rolling of eyes.
“I tried to tell the truth about my childhood with my uncle and cousin, I tried to speak out, but he made it seem like I was crazy. Nobody would believe the insane girl hell-bent on revenge because she was put away for a crime she didn’t commit. All I did was call this supposedly incredible detective who reigns in NYC. He never even answered. My uncle, who is always watching, saw the call and the next day I was being carted away. He fabricated stories about my drug addiction and how psychotic I was and then I was diagnosed clinically insane.”
They used different words but that’s basically what they were saying.
“Fucking hell.”
“Yeah. It sucked. It didn’t help that I bleached my hair and got piercings and drank a lot after juvie released me. I got caught with Es and other pills, I did cocaine for a while. Anything to help keep me awake at night.”
“The nightmares?” Carter asks and takes my hand in his.
“I was locked in a room with a tiny window, I wasn’t allowed outside, I wasn’t allowed books… All I had was a radio constantly playing into my room which I danced to incessantly. Dance had always been a release for me but it was in the asylum that I truly honed my craft. Luckily, whoever ran the hospital realized the doctors were corrupt jackasses and they sent in this amazing doctor who very quickly realized I wasn’t insane. She sorted that entire building out and saved so many people.” I tear up at the memory. “Even though by that point I’d convinced myself that I was insane, she saw through it. That kind of isolation does something to you, it fucks you up mentally. Two months after she promised to get me out, because I needed to be rehabilitated back to a well frame of mind, I tasted freedom and I ended up here… with both of you.”
