Page 104 of Done Waiting

Though I hated reliving my past and being forced into a decision no fourteen-year-old should have to make, for Maddie, I’d endure it. Clasping her hand in mine, I say, “This is going to be hard.” A lump is in my throat and I swallow hard.

“I’m here, Jagger. Through it all, I’ll be right here. Anything you need.”

A salacious smile curls my lips as I lean forward, pressing sloppy wet kisses up her throat and to her lips. “And what if I need to bury myself deep inside you after I’ve told my story? What if I need to lose myself in you?”

Her smile is flirtatious, desire turning her eyes into a pot of molten honey. “I’m right here. Always.” She shivers, her hard nipples poking against my chest. “I look forward to it.”

Goddamn. I’m a lucky fucker.

But not right now. That will have to wait until I reveal the horror that finally turned my life around. One decision that would change everything.

Things changed after the social worker came to my house and had sex with my father. He thought he had a great way to get rid of me and would soon be free from his responsibilities of fatherhood, so he cared very little whether I was home or not.

I spent as much time at the Brandt’s house as possible, which ultimately led to me confiding in Jason,

telling him everything I’d overhead that awful night my social worker betrayed me. Confessing that I stared at the sky, pleading for my mom to somehow see and help me, shame filled me. We’re two teenage boys, and Jason will probably think I’m a wimp.

Instead, he shocked me when his eyebrows rose, his face serious and gravely concerned. “Your mom would be proud of her smart, resourceful son. She’d hate what her husband had become. She’d want yououtof that house. She sure as hell wouldn’t want you to go to some damn mental institution.”

He paused, staring at me for a long time. “You’re not sick, Jagger. You’re the victim of a fucked up cruel game that your dad and this bitch social worker are playing.” He paused, the muscles in his arms so tense they strained the fabric of his shirt. He and I have been hitting the weights every chance we get and putting on some muscle mass.

Finally, Jason said, “What do you think your mom would say to you if she could get a message to you from the grave?”

I’d never given that much thought.

Chewing on my bottom lip, the video game we’d been playing paused, I finally said, “I’m not sure if she’d tell me to do what I’ve been thinking about doing.”

Jason stares at me before saying, “You’re a good kid in a helluva messed up situation that no fourteen-year-old boy should be in.” Jason puts a hand on my shoulder, squeezing it, a serious expression replacing his typical jovial one. “Sometimes,you have to take matters into your own hands. Play their game.” His voice lowers, his expression serious. “If your mom knew everything that has happened since her death and you asked her what you should do, what do you think she’d say?”

I didn’t hesitate before blurting out, “She’d tell me to do whatever I needed to do to get out of it. To save myself.”

Jason nods. “Listen to your mom.”

His words and my response echoed inside my head all night long. The next morning, when I woke up in the twin bed beside his in his room, I leaned on my elbow, peering at him with tired eyes. “I know what I must do. But I’m going to need your help.”

Jason didn’t question me. “Anything you need, Jagger. Always.”

In the days that followed, I laced my father’s booze with sleeping pills so I could search the house to find out how much money he had. I was thrilled to learn I’d inherited a nice sum of money, a cabin, and some land my mom inherited from my grandparents and left to me, but I was pissed my dad hid it from me. Once I turned eighteen, it would be mine. I was shocked to find the Brandt’s were its executors until I reached eighteen when it would be mine.

A note from my mom stuffed in a drawer included the details of how she’d inherited the money. She explained she was an only child whose parents disowned her for marrying my father, whom they didn’t like nor trust. Since they had no other children and hadn’t changed their will, when they died from injuries sustained in a car accident, all their money went to my mom. My mom kept their cabin, located in the mountains on the outskirts of Falls Creek, but sold their main house and most of their vehicles. She put that money in a trust for me.

About a week later, I heard my dad talking on the phone, gleefully laughing about me being taken away soon. Because he completed part of the job the social worker asked him to do, hegot a nice cut of the money she promised him, as well as some drugs.

My dad’s next call was to the dealer because the social worker couldn’t hand him the drugs. I heard him arguing with her on the phone, her shrill voice reaching my ears when she said, “Are you kidding, Lucas? I can’t just hand you the drugs. Just like I couldn’t with the money you received. I’ll give you the dealer’s name and number so you can set up a meeting.”

Perfect.

Anticipation rolled through me when he left to meet the dealer. I paced in my bedroom, too anxious to do anything except drink tons of water to quench my unyielding thirst as anticipation rolled through me.This has to work. I’m out of options.

Finally, his truck engine roared into the drive, classic rock music pouring through my open bedroom window. A few minutes later, his boots thudded over the sidewalk and through the door, slamming it behind him. He bellowed I needed to start dinner before hurrying up the steps. Closing the window, I crept to my hiding spot.

Hidden upstairs in the spare room across from his bedroom, I watched as he came upstairs with his drugs. He sat on the bed, rolled up his sleeve, and injected the speedball concoction into his veins. He’d done a speedball the first time he threw the pot of boiling water on my back. I had no idea what that was until I heard Mr. and Mrs. Brandt whispering when I stayed with them. Only, they had no idea I was on the other side of the wall, listening to the conversation, tears rolling down my face.

My lips twisted in disgust. I hated drugs, and watching him inject himself caused bile to rise in my throat. The urge to kill him and put an end to his misery, as well as my own, caused my blood to pump viciously through my veins.

After he came out of his room, I stealthily crept out after him.

When he reached the top of the stairs, I got a running start, shoving him as hard as I could. Breathing heavily, I watched as he tumbled to the bottom of the stairs. He lay there, his limbs twisted at odd angles, groaning.

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