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Adam lets out a loud guffaw at the names, the sound bouncing around the room and setting the other two off as well. In that moment, he looks so carefree and happy, not a hint of the usual arrogant cockiness that normally surrounds him. It’s like seeing who he actually is instead of the front he puts up in front of everyone else. I may not like Adam more than the other two, but after he took my hit to the face, my heart has started melting a little bit towards him.
“You can call me Big Guy any time you like,” Riggs rumbles out, mischief dancing in his eyes.
Picking up a pen off of the desk, I chuck it half-heartedly at his head and roll my eyes. “Get back to work,Big Guy. There’s a lot to do.”
With a playful salute from Riggs, we all turn to our corners of the room and dive into Dec’s stuff. This is going to take days if not an entire week to finish up. It's more than just sorting Dec's stuff, it's reliving the moments of his life before he knocked on death's door. It will take time and energy, yes, but it'll also take mental strength I'm not sure I'd have alone. Thankfully, I'll never have to go through that with these three men beside me.
Death, and all of its aftermath, is much like the twilight hour. It sucks the life out of the living with every heartbreaking moment afterwards, sending us into a darkness that feels all consuming. However, finding the light is sometimes easier than we think. All you need is someone willing to hold your hand and walk with you towards it. The shadows still creep in, but the light stays bright when you grieve with others.
Chapter Twelve
Alayna
The hours flew by in Declan’s room, each piece of paper that I picked up I studied like it held the answers to the universe. My hands traced every letter, his writing so painstakingly familiar to me.There was nothing that stuck out to me as important that I came across, but I would be lying if I said I had even made a dent at his desk.
Lying in bed in the dingy motel room, I stare at the ceiling and replay every moment from the past two days in my head. The optimism from just days ago feels like a parallel universe to the one I’m in right now. How could I have let myself think that anything good would happen to me? There’s glaring neon signs all throughout my life that tell me otherwise.
Prepare for the worst.That’s what I always need to remember. The best case scenario shouldn’t even be on my radar. It saves me from disappointment, pain, and keeps me ready for anything.
My life has been nothing but a few good moments mixed in with all the shit. Being optimistic about anything good happening to me is like thinking you’re going to win the lottery just because you won five dollars on a scratch ticket. One good thing happens, like meeting Declan, and it’s followed by a landslide of pain, heartache, and abuse. It’s pretty much the cycle of my pitiful life.
Pressing the palms of my hands into my eyes, I fight off the memories of my past. All that trauma and abuse needs to stay locked in the recesses of my mind. The physical and sexual was bad, but the emotional and verbal is what replays in my head the most.
“You like walking around looking like a whore, you good for nothing bitch?” my foster mom sneers at me, a look of disgust written across her face.
Looking down at my v-neck shirt with tears in my eyes, I do my best to shrink into it, covering any cleavage showing. It’s better I say nothing at times like this, just endure it all until she gets tired of me.
“You’re pathetic.” She continues on, revelling in the pain she’s causing me. “You’ll never be anything but a whore. Spreading your legs for any fucking man that looks at you. You’re a waste of space, stupid little brat. Get the fuck out of my sight. If I see you again, I’ll grab the belt and show you how much of a piece of shit you are.”
With her dismissal, I run out of the room as fast as I possibly can. There will be no food tonight, not even a bathroom trip, because I know she’s serious. One sound to bring me to her attention and I’ll spend the night wishing I was gone.
Shaking my head to get rid of the flashback, I grind my teeth together and try whatever I can to erase these memories from my head. The images fade, but the words never do. Every time I was called worthless, every snide remark about how unlovable I am, it all plays on repeat in my head in an almost continuous loop. The memories of the physical can be shut out and locked up in my mind until it’s triggered, but the words have become so ingrained into my mind, I sometimes struggle to remember who I am.
My phone shrills beside my head, scaring the absolute shit out of me. That son of a bitch phone never rings, I always keep it on silent like a sane person, so the sound is not one I’m used to hearing. Looking at the name crossing the screen, I sigh heavily before picking it up and putting on my business voice. Duty calls and not even my mental health can come before it.
“Hey, Rachel. What’s up?”
“Hey, Boss. I am so sorry for your loss and calling you like this. I just needed to check in with you on a few things,” she squeaks into the phone, her voice always reminds me of a cute little mouse.
“Sure thing, it’s not a problem. What’s going on?” I sit up, adjusting the pillows behind me to make me comfortable.
“The weekly shipment came in earlier today, but we seem to be missing all of the tequila and spiced rums. I’ve been through every box at this point thinking I may have just missed it but no, it never came.” Rachel huffs, her heels clicking across the wood floor in my office as she paces. “I can’t find the supplier’s contact information anywhere.”
“It’ll be in the grey binder I left on the right side of my desk,” I rattle, picturing the exact way I left my small office the last time I was there. “Start by looking in the blue section, which is where our outside suppliers are located, and then it’s in alphabetical order.”
“Ah, motherfucking mothballs!” Rachel yells out making me laugh softly at her creativity. “I was looking under red!”
“Red is our maintenance contractors,” I offhandedly murmur, my eyes falling shut with exhaustion.
“Oh, right. Duh!” Rachel covers the receiver, yelling out some muffled words to someone. “Sorry, I’ll text you my other questions later. They’re getting swamped out there!”
“No worries,” I mumble, relief seeping into my tone at being done with this conversation. My socialization has reached its max for today. “I’ll answer them tonight or tomorrow. Call me for anythingurgent.” I emphasize the last word, hoping it clicks that this phone call could have been a text or email.
"Night!" Rachel hollers into the phone, hanging up just as the loud music of the bar hits my ear.
"Night," I mutter into my empty motel room, sliding back down under the covers until they hit my chin.
The scratchiness of the blanket is oddly comforting, the rough fabric giving me something to focus on to ground myself from my cyclone of depression and anxiety in my chest. The past few days have been hard on me, physically, mentally, emotionally. My body feels strung out on anxiety and like it’s being crushed by the weight of my depression. There’s no energy left in me, but the thought of sleeping has my heart racing. It’s like being caught between a heavy rock and a deadly waterfall with no escape.
