Restore Me

  Copyright © 2013 J. L. Mac

  Smashwords Edition 2013

  ***

  Copyright © 2013 J. L. Mac

  Smashwords Edition 2013

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including Internet usage, without written permission of the author.

  Cover design by:

  Wicked By Design Robin Harper

  Edited by:

  Erin Roth | Wise Owl Editing (http://www.facebook.com/erinrotheditor?fref=ts)

  Formatted by:

  Angela McLaurin | Fictional formats (http://www.facebook.com/pages/Fictional-formats/578230928856597?fref=ts)

  Images copyright Sergios & Guryanov Andrey, 2012

  Used under license from Shutterstock | www.shutterstock.com

  ***

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  To those who said I couldn’t.

  To those who said I shouldn’t.

  You are precisely why I did.

  Thank you.

  ***

  “Just shut the fuck up, boy! I don’t want to hear a damn thing from you. You’re just as dumb and useless as your whore mother! It’s no wonder she didn’t want a damn thing to do with you. The bitch must’ve been psychic along with being a dirty slut! She had to know how stupid and worthless you were going to be; that’s why she went and dumped you off on me! If it weren’t for your pain in the ass grandmother, I would’ve gotten rid of you the minute your bitch mother shoved you off on me!”

  I should be used to it, but it always makes me flinch when he says those things to me. I hate it. I prefer his fists over the verbal assault. I think I heal from the physical stuff a lot faster than the awful shit he says. I don’t get how someone could hate their kid so much. It’s like I never had a chance. He hated me from the minute I was born and seventeen years hasn’t changed anything. If anything, he may hate me a little more now. He’s drunk and mean as hell. What’s worse is that he thinks it’s perfectly fine to drive when he is wasted. It scares the shit out of me.

  “Dad, I just think I should drive, you know, in case the cops pull us over or something. They’ll smell the whiskey.”

  He knows I couldn’t care less about him getting in trouble. He knows I’m scared; he always knows when I’m scared. He knows and he likes it.

  “What the hell do you know about anything, dumbass? Just shut your mouth and sit there. If it weren’t for you, I’d still be at the house. You just had to screw up my day huh?”

  “I didn’t mean to. My ride bailed on me. I’m sorry.” He couldn’t possibly know how sorry I am. I would rather be riding around in Erik’s car right now, but he finally got a date with Ashley Wilcox and I told him to go ahead. I’m not a dick to my friends.

  “Yeah, you’re right about that. You are sorry. Maybe you should apologize.”

  I look out the window so he can’t see me cringe at his insult. I hate this shit! I’m seventeen going on eighteen—I’ll be an adult soon! He should treat me with more respect. He should treat me like an adult. I hate this asshole; yet, I would do anything to please him. I’ve tried everything to make him happy. Even though he’s a terrible, mean drunken asshole, I still have a strange desire to please him. It drives me insane that somehow I still want to make my dad proud. I still want him to love me. It’s a wasted effort. He’ll never love me, but I try. I may always try…

  “I apologize, Dad, but please! Just pull over and let me drive home.” Please pull over.

  “Hell no! I’m not drunk, and even if I was, I still drive better than your seventeen-year-old ass. Tell me to pull over again and I will, but it will be to kick your snot-nosed ass up and down this road! You ain’t drivin’ my car, Damon, so fuckin’ forget about it!”

  Of course not. Stupid. I shift in my seat and tug my lap belt a little tighter. He doesn’t seem to notice and I’m thankful for it. I don’t need more shit about how I’m such a “sissy-boy.”

  “Dad, you’re drunk! Please, just—”

  His cold eyes land on me and I flinch. I thought for a second he was going to land a punch right here in the car as we swerve down the road. He doesn’t hit me, though. Just pins me to the seat with the hateful glare that always rips me apart. I don’t think I’ve seen him look at me with love ever. Ever. Not once has he looked at me like a normal dad does. It makes me hate him and hate my mom, whoever she is. I hate her maybe even more than I hate him. She didn’t want me, so she handed me over to him. She made me live this way. I wish both of them were dead. Who knows? Maybe she already is.

  “Hush, boy, or I’ll make you shut the hell up like your lying whore mother!”

  “Dad! C’mon! You’re all over the road! Pull over. Please!” He’s scaring the shit out of me now. We’re going to be wrapped around a utility pole if he doesn’t stop. I have to stop him. He raises his hand up, straight as a board, and rears back to slap the piss out of me like he’s done so many times.

  “I need to teach you a lesson in obedience, you worthless little asshole!”

  I turn my head to brace for the blow. My eyes catch a glimpse of something. Oh shit! I reach for the wheel. “Dad! Watch out!”

  The impact is deafening. Glass breaks, metal grinds, rubber squeals against the pavement, and smoke billows. I lurch forward, but thankfully the belt jerked tight across my chest, pinning me to the seat. I look up and try to see through the smoke drifting over the hood of the car. I’m too late. I’m too late and this is completely my fault. We have hit another car. Head on. Dad’s old, heavy, four-door Caprice Classic has smashed right into a miniscule economy car. I should’ve walked home or called for another ride. I should’ve taken the beating for forcing him to pull over. I should’ve been a man not the sissy-boy that I am. Fuck! I unclip my belt with shaky hands then reach across and unbuckle dad. The sorry bastard looks scared. What the hell?

  “Listen to me, boy. You were driving. Understand?”

  What? He wants me to take the blame for the wreck? “Dad, I—”

  He leans over to me and his breath is strong. It smells like an open bottle of booze. “You. Were. Driving. Say something different, and see what happens, sissy-boy. Just try it!” Spit flies from his mouth and spews onto my cheek, making me flinch.

  I don’t say anything. I wrench my jaw from his hand and forcefully shoulder out of my side of the car. I run to the other car.

  “Oh, Jesus! Oh, God!” My voice sounds far off.

  I’m frozen for a moment. I can’t move. The front of the car is now in the middle of the car. It looks like an accordion. Fuck! Blood is splattered all over the glass. I’m scared. I don’t want to go over there; I can’t go over there. I run my hands through my hair. Dad makes his way from our car. It looks like he isn’t hurt at all. I’m not hurt either. The car in front of me is crumpled and there’s blood on the glass. It’s clear that someone is hurt.

  “Please!”

  Someone is alive in there! I push past the fear and hurry to the car. From what little I can see through the broken window, the two people in the front seat are gone. There�
��s so much blood. “Oh, God. Oh, God. I’m so sorry. Oh, God.” I can’t stop talking, like it’s going to help or something.

  “Please, help me!”

  I can see her easily through the busted window; a little girl, stuck behind the driver’s seat. She’s younger than me, with dark hair and huge, scared eyes. With my heart pumping out of control, I muster all my strength and pull the mangled back passenger door open so hard that I nearly fall back on my ass. Normally, I’d be mortified. Today, I couldn’t care less. I don’t care about anything except getting these people help. “I’ve got you, I’m coming. C’mon. Dad, get them out of the front. GO!”

  The crash has shoved everything back. The hood of the car is now where the dashboard should be, and both of the front seats have been sandwiched in the middle. I have to get her out. I peek over at the front passenger seat and wish I hadn’t. The woman must be her mother. She has blood pouring from where her left eye should be. I can’t see it, though. There’s just blood; her hair is matted with it. She isn’t moving. I don’t know if she’s breathing, but I learned how to check someone’s pulse in Phys. Ed., so I stretch across the girl and hold my fingers beside her watch like I learned. It could be my racing heart and shaky hands, but I can’t feel anything. Nothing. I have to get this girl out. I carefully get a grip on her, figuring the quicker, the better. Her leg looks bad and this is going to hurt, but she needs help. I jerk her from the car with one hard tug and cradle her in my arms. Oh, shit. I feel queasy. I get one look at the bone peeking through her skin and nearly hurl. Oh shit. That looks like it hurts. This is my doing.

  “This is my fault. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’ll make sure you’re okay.”

  I have to help. I have to make this better. I can’t make it right, but maybe I can try to make it better. Maybe there’s something I can do. I don’t know, but I have to try. The ambulance arrives and I hurry her to the paramedics. They push me. I want them to take care of her and all, but I want to stay with her. She has no one else here. She needs a person. She needs someone to watch and wait. Her parents aren’t going to make it; I can tell. It’s my fault, so I’ll be here for her. I’ll be her person. I have to be her person.

  ***

  Even if just barely; I’m still standing. I won’t sit here and lie to myself by saying that I’m stronger for having gone through this. I don’t feel a damn bit stronger for it. I feel like I single-handedly destroyed what little happiness life offered me; Damon. The burden of this guilt is crippling. I can’t imagine what my Big Man was feeling all these years. How in the hell could he possibly have felt responsible? He was just a kid. That accident was no more his fault than it was mine. I wish I could say the same for what happened a week ago. If only I’d just let him explain. The memory of what happened is fresh and for once I find myself wishing for time to take this memory from me. Something deep down inside tells me that I probably shouldn’t hold my breath. The role I played in Damon’s actions that day will likely haunt me until the day I die and I can’t say I deserve any better. I fucked up.

  That day, the day of his ultimate reaction, was one week ago.

  One week ago, on a Monday like today, my phone rang off the hook until I turned it off completely. Damon had pounded on my door for days, until that snobby neighbor called the damned police to have him removed. I hadn’t checked my email. I hadn’t gone anywhere. I hadn’t done…anything. Nothing. I’d been lucky to even exist on Captain’s old sofa. I hadn’t seen Damon in four days. I felt like my entire world had fallen apart.

  Now I know that my world was only cracked when I learned who Damon was. It really fell apart those four days later, one week ago today, starting with a new banging on the door. A softer, but still persistent banging that got Hemingway yipping his tiny bark and me groaning like a dying animal. I felt like a dying animal.

  “Goooo awaaaaaaaay!”

  The banging got louder.

  “Girl, you better open this door!”

  GRAMS! Oh shit, Grams! She’ll have a heart attack in this heat. I rolled off the couch and crawled on fours for a beat before finally standing up and swinging the door open with such a rush that a hot gust of air traveled in with it.

  Grams took one look at me and nearly choked. “You look like shit! I mean real shit! A big steaming pile—”

  It sounded so much more mortifying, coming from Grams. “I get it! Come in, Grams.”

  She smiled politely and looked over her shoulder to a waiting car and held up a shaky finger. She shuffled in with her walker, tennis balls and all. “I came to set you right, young lady!”

  Set me right? What the fuck? I screwed my face all up and she wrinkled her nose at me. I guess it’s not my best look.

  “Me?”

  “Yep! You!” she said sternly, wagging a finger menacingly at me. “As much as it pains me, I have to set you straight.”

  It pains her? Awesome. I guess Grams didn’t like me as much as I liked her.

  “I love you to pieces,” she reassured me, patting my hand. “I hope that once you hear what I have to say, you’ll go find Damon and you two will kiss and make up.”

  “What do you mean, go find him?” Where the hell is he? My heart sped up instantly and I started to panic. The thought of never seeing him again had me frantic.

  “I’ll get to that in a minute. One thing at a time.”

  I nodded and did my best to appear calm and attentive.

  “So, he had two letters delivered to me today. One was for me and one was for you. In my letter, he said he knew you would come see me at some point and he wanted me to give it to you. I’ll give it to you in a minute. First and foremost, young lady, you need to know that Damon wasn’t driving.”

  “What?!” I screeched.

  She shook her head from side to side. “He was not driving. My drunk, lousy, no good son was. He made Damon tell the police that it was him who wrecked the car because he was a minor and mostly, because he wasn’t drunk. Damon has always blamed himself because he couldn’t get Eddie to pull over and let him drive.”

  Oh, no. I clutched my aching stomach. I felt like I might be ill. He didn’t do it. It’s not his fault. “How could he think…How…It’s not his fault!”

  I crossed the room to sit beside Grams. She put my shaking hand in hers and let me sob for a moment.

  “I have to see him. I have to talk to him!” I was looking around for car keys, in a veritable tizzy, when she thrust an envelope at me.

  “He isn’t answering and no one knows where he is. Open your letter; maybe he has told you where he went.”

  I snatched the envelope from her hand and ripped it open. I’ve read it so many times in the last week that now I know it by heart.

  My Josephine,

  I should have been smarter that day. I should have been braver. I should have stopped him at all costs. If I had, maybe none of this ever would have happened. You never would have been hurt. We could have met and spent our lives together. You must know that I have spent countless days thinking of how I could have changed the outcome of that summer day so long ago. Had I known how things would turn out, I would have done anything to spare you and your family from the tragedy for which I hold myself responsible. He wrecked more than cars that day. He wrecked your life and mine in the process. And I was the only one who could have stopped it all. I would take their place if I could. I would do anything that would bring you happiness. I will make sure that I am but a memory to you. You won’t have to endure the pain of seeing me again. The anguish I saw in your eyes four days ago was far more than I could ever bare. I can only hope that perhaps, one day, you will be able to look back on us and smile, recalling the passion and love we shared. Those are memories that torment and comfort me, all at the same time. When you were mine, you made everything better. You made my life better. You made me better. You have been my medicine. You made the hurt disappear. My past is one that I can never escape, I know this now. Please know that I would do anything, I would give anything, to make
things right. I want to thank you for giving me the greatest gift I have ever known. For what seems like a fleeting moment, I lived in the bliss of your affection. To never know that bliss again is an agony that I cannot endure. My heart is forever yours, Josephine. I love you.

  -Damon

  PS. You get it all.

  My eyes bulged and watered. My heart pounded so hard in my chest I could barely breathe. Grams pulled the letter from my hand and read it. I jumped from my seat and started searching for shoes, grabbing the nearest pair and stripping down right there in front of her. I pulled a clean shirt over my head and shorts up my legs. Where would he be? I had no clue where to even start.

  “The accident,” she muttered, staring down at the letter.

  “What?”

  Her silver head lifted and I saw tears swimming in her eyes. “The scene of the accident. He used to go there and park along the shoulder to sit. He’d sit there for hours until I would come find him. Jo, you have to go get him.”

  Without hesitation, I grabbed keys from the coffee table and ran out the door. I jumped from the top step to the bottom and nearly busted my ass on the walkway. I scurried to Captain’s car. I knew where the scene was; I’d been there a thousand times, too. I used to go sit there and be miserable, thinking about Maman and Papa and the boy who pulled me from that car.