Page 46 of Seeing Grayscale

“You shouldn’t have offered if you can’t keep up the supply,” he snaps.

We are huddled under the slide structure in the park to stay out of the rain. It's doing fuckall, though. My pants and brace aresoaked, along with my duffle bag. I push the wet strands of hair out of my eyes, scanning my surroundings for anyone lurking to jump me. I wouldn’t put it past Ray to give me up to Dan, especially now.

“I didn't plan on it being a regular thing, man.”

“And you try telling pill poppers you ain’t got no more. See what happens to you then.”

Ray is a big guy, a few years older than me, and twitchy like he’s jacked up on testosterone and cocaine. Not a good mix.

His missing bottom front tooth—and his namesake—are visible as he growls in frustration before grabbing me by the collar. “Get the fucking prescription. I didn’t do you this favor for nothin’, you hear?”

“Fuck you, man! Like it’s a favor! You piss off every runner who comes around!”

He shoves me back, my spine nailing the thick support holding up the red slide above us. “I kept Dan off your nuts because of those pills. Wasn’t that nice of me? I hear his boys want another taste.” Spittle lands on my cheek. “Heard they filled you uprealnice.” He smirks before his eye twitches. The thick fingers holding me hostage tighten, pinching the fabric of my hoodie so it nearly strangles me. “You’re gonna get more. Say it.”

I bring my knee up right into his dick. To my horror, though, he doesn’t even flinch. His glare hardens right before he punches me in the stomach. “Say. It.”

Sucking air in through my nose, I bite my tongue.

Like some sick Déjà vu, I’m struggling to hold my ground, all the while knowing it’s going to be my funeral. He knows the only reason I coughed up those pills is for the 20% cut he gave me. It’s the only way I’ve been able to eat. Maybe it’s pride or something else entirely, but I refuse to ask Hunter for more handouts. He’s done enough.

This is my fucked up life, and I’m dealing with it.

“You stubborn little fucker,” Ray snaps and throws me to the ground. The wood chips they scatter in playgrounds are meant to be a soft landing should you fall, but that's a load of crap.

I land face first, one of the brown pieces stabbing me in the eye as the rain pelts down on my body. “What fuckin’ sugar daddy bought you this shit?”

Pushing up on my good knee and palms, I flip to glare at Ray, who is currently going through my stuff. He tosses my clothes onto the soggy ground, rips my phone charger apart, and pockets my deodorant. “You fucking asshole!” I roar, scrambling to get to my feet.

He kicks me in the side, knocking the wind out of my lungs. With his shoe wedged into my back, he bends down. “I’m not asking again. You’ll get more, or Dan’s gettin’ off his leash.”

My eyes burn with the tears I’m holding back as I wander, cradling the wad of clothes to my chest.

I don’t know what it is about me, but I’m sick of being the chum in shark-infested waters. Tired of never catching a goddamn break. I’m soaked from head to toe, the crutch I’ve been using long gone. Ray took it along with my deodorant. God, I hope some pit hair was stuck to it still—anything to get some semblance of justice for the endless wrongs done to me.

When it gets bad like this, I find my way back to my old neighborhood. The people who live on Chrysaline Street will call the cops if I linger, but I need to see it.

Through blurry vision, I get close enough to spot the family living in my house. I’ve made up names for everyone because I got tired of calling them thieves.

Martha and Tim don’t know that house is mine. And Tim Jr doesn’t know that the window overlooking the front yard used to be my favorite spot to draw in.

Their toddler, Fiona, has a crap ton of toys, including one of those plastic playsets that most kids beg their parents for. She doesn’t know that my dad and I would do Slip’N’Slides right where her big wheel is parked.

At least Martha utilizes Mom’s flower bed. She even kept the Morning Glory vine.

Using the ball of clothes as a tissue, I wipe my snotty nose and stare.

All the lights are on inside, and the dining room curtains aren’t shut tonight. Tim Jr and Fiona sit at the table, arguing…I think.

They’re so fucking lucky. They don’t know how good they have it. Do they even appreciate everything their parents do for them? Do they fucking care? My throat bobs while I swallow past the golf ball of emotion.

I want it back.

I wantthatback.

Family.

Unconditional fucking love.

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