Page 38 of Getting It Twisted

“He could be a pimp or a john or some famous actor for all I know. Mom never disclosed that shit to me.”

Daniel wipes his face with his shirt. “Is that what you did when you left? Went to LA to find him—your father?”

“Come on, you know me better than that. You think I care about some lowlife who nutted in my mom? He doesn’t give a shit about me, and I don’t give a shit about him. No.”

“Then what?”

“There’s not much to tell.”

“Tell me anyway.”

I send him a glance to make sure there’s no ill will in his gaze. Nothing. Only curiosity, and perhaps some concern. I take a drag deep enough for my lungs to burn, keep it inside for a few seconds, and exhale.

Then I tell him.

“I drank, drugged, sucked, and fucked my way through state after state. Whenever my funds ran out, I took on some dead-end job. Slept in my car to save up cash. Once I’d saved up enough, I quit and did it all over again.”

My pulse quickens while I wait for his response. I’m sure it’s the weed, though that’s not all.

It’s not like I’m ashamed of what I did during those years. I’m neither ashamed nor proud. It was all just shit I had to do to keep myself from going insane. During the first couple of years, it was like I was possessed by some demon. Egged on by the young, wild rage inside me, and the need to take my mind off all I’d left behind.

The horrors and the good times. Daniel. Always Daniel.

“Do you want to go back out there?” He gestures toward the road.

“Not really,” I say, far quicker than I meant to.

“But wouldn’t it be better than here?”

“Why? My grandpa’s long gone. Now my mom is too. There’s nothing bad here left.” Except for me, of course.

“Tell me about him. Your grandpa.”

“I remember him locking us inside the house a lot. I remember how afraid she was of him.” The yard swims before my eyes. The same trees, the same sky—everything’s the same as back then. My mouth moves on its own, and words spill out. Words I never meant to say. “She never held me when I was a baby, you know? She hated me from the start.”

“I’m sorry,” Daniel says.

“Why? You couldn’t do anything. No one could.”

“That’s not true. The authorities—”

“Oh, like Wayne Hastings?” My lips curl into a vicious sneer. “That bastard. He was here, you know? Shoved his dick into my mom like the rest of them. Got her drugs and everything.”

“What?” Daniel turns to me. He sounds disturbed. “You never told me about that. Does George know?”

My shoulders shake with laughter. “What do you think?”

“Nathan. I’m serious.”

“You don’t thinkI’mserious?” I think I smoked too much. The world presses in on me with a greater weight than before, and my heart is jackhammering in my chest. My thoughts flit away when I try to grab onto them. Maybe I shouldn’t smoke weed or drink in Daniel’s presence. My tongue is slippery enough when I’m sober. And now I can’t breathe. I can’t . . .

Daniel rises from the chair. “Stand up.”

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

I get to my feet, and he opens his arms and pulls me into a hug.

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