B.N. Kruse

Chapter One

Tillie

May 12th, 2024

   His short nails dig into my skin as his hand strangles my bicep. He doesn’t want the gesture to look threatening to the guests he’s invited, especially to the guest I’m currently trying to get as far away from as possible, but we both know it is.

   “If you leave this house, you will never be allowed back. Do you understand me?” he murmurs in my ear with an eerie calmness.

   For the hundredth time, I wonder how we got to this point, but it was inevitable. My truth can never be known, and the only thing he sees when he looks at me is failed potential, dysfunction, and a waste of space.

   “I’d rather sleep on the side of the road curled up with a fucking cactus than spend one more second in this house with you.” My voice cracks as I rip my arm from his grasp.

   The withering glare on his face almost has me running back upstairs to my room. Almost. I hold back the tears that are threatening to fall. Once upon a time, tears rarely ever fell from my eyes as my emotions were scarce, thanks to the crutch I leaned heavily on. Escaping with a bottle of pills, a bottle of Jack, or a needle isn’t an option anymore. I have to face everything with a clear mind, and that…

   That is my hell.

   “Expect your account to be emptied and your phone to be turned off.”

   “Wouldn’t expect anything less, Dad.” With my duffle bag on my shoulder, I hold my head high, walking out and slamming the door.

   Goosebumps rise on my arms, and my head feels lighter but weighed down at the same time. Taking a deep breath of the crisp, night air, I focus on the slight sting in my lungs. For once, I have no idea where I’ll end up. Thankfully, I’d already been taking money out of my account little by little.

   Before my dad can have my phone deactivated, I call Presley. We’ve known each other for a long time, but cultivating lasting friendships hasn’t been a priority over the last few years. Thankfully, Presley is the only person left who gives a single damn about me.

   The phone rings a few times, and I feel bad about the time of night. “Hello?”

   “Hey Presley… It’s Tillie. I uh…I left my dad’s house for good. I…”

   There’s only one person I’ve ever felt comfortable enough to ask for help, Rhett, but he’s drawn his line in the sand. “Never mind. I’ll figure—“

   She cuts me off. “Go to the shop, and I’ll meet you there. It’s closer than the house.”

   I’m not telling her I don’t have a car because it would be one more thing I need help with.

   How is this my life?

   Clearing the emotion from my throat, I respond, “Thanks. I’ll meet you there.”

   Twenty or so minutes later, bright headlights are coming toward me, and for a second, I panic, ready to throw myself into a side ditch. Except the headlights, causing my panic, would be shining from behind me.

   When the car slows, my steps slow until I realize it’s Presley. When she pulls up beside me, the window rolls down.

   “Figured you didn’t have a car when I beat you there,” she says sheepishly.

   Glancing into the back seat, I notice her daughter, Emmy, sound asleep in her car seat. Her long eyelashes rest against her chubby, flushed cheeks, and her dark hair is covered by the beanie on her head. The innocence of this beautiful baby girl hits me right in the organ I’d love to rip out of my body.

   Opening the door, I offer a small smile and mumble a thank you. Her husband, Dane, is good friends with Rhett. To say I’m nervous about how he’ll react when he sees me is an understatement. Slightly terrified is more like it. I don’t believe he’ll be an outright asshole because of Presley, but the worry about what he thinks of me is there, nonetheless.

   Group therapy, which I was forced to partake in, taught me about how the image of ourselves can be tainted with the filth of our pasts or mistakes. When another person looks at us, we expect them to see that version of us. As if the darkest, ugliest parts are always on display.

   “Are you sure it’s okay for me to stay with you guys?” My father accused Rhett of being my dealer after my overdose last year, and our town turned its back on him. He wasn’t—my dealer. He’d been clean for a while, but my dad wouldn’t listen.

   She glances over at me with a look of sympathy on her face, and I hate it.

   “You have nothing to do with what your father did.” She sighs. “As for you and Rhett…Whatever happened is between the two of you. It’s not Dane’s business or mine. But if you ever want an ear, I’ll always be here to listen.”

   Nodding my head, I stare out the window. Everything starts to feel heavy. My eyes. My body. The stress of being twenty-five years old and having no prospects for a career. Knowing my phone and account are about to be turned off and emptied.

   If I’m being honest, I’ve never felt more like a junkie than I do right now, completely sober.

   The therapist at the rehab facility told me life after addiction might seem unbearable. I’d need to take it one day at a time. That phrase used to annoy the hell out of me. Now, I finally understand it. The weight of everything happening and the uncertainty of my life could be temporarily lifted if I went out and found a fix. That euphoric, warm feeling rushing through your veins and wrapping your demons in a blanket, tucking them away.

   I have to get through tonight completely sober. And the next day and the day after that. It has to be a choice every day. I can’t lull my demons to bed with a liquid lullaby. I have to face them head-on and hope that one day we can co-exist peacefully.

   When we pull up to her house, the front porch light shines. A beacon guiding her to the front door and into a safe place with the family she created.

   That sickly, emotional feeling rises, clawing at my throat and causing an ache.

   Their house is an older brick ranch style, but I know Rhett did a lot of work on their small porch and wooden shutters. He’s a master carpenter. I’ve never seen something built by him that wasn’t perfect. Two windows on the front of the house put out a soft glow of light. Their front door is painted matte black, which would make it hard to see at this time of night, if not for the fact that it’s more frosted glass than door.

   As we walk up the short cement sidewalk, I keep my eyes locked on Emmy. She’s sleeping soundly on Presley’s shoulder. Once we step inside, I’m slammed with nerves. She takes her shoes off by the door, so I do the same. I wasn’t always like this. Maybe I was never extremely outgoing, but I was comfortable enough around people. I didn’t want to crawl out of my skin as soon as I walked into new surroundings.

   “You can go ahead into the kitchen. I’m going to lay her down really quick,” Presley whispers as she nods to the room where the light is coming from.

   Making my way through the living room, the hardwood creaks with every step before I enter another room to the right. My steps pause when I spot Dane at the table, drawing sketches for his tattoo appointments.

   Clearing my throat, I walk to the small round table and pull out a chair. He looks up, and our eyes lock for a few seconds. His face is blank, other than his occasional blinking.

   “How’s sobriety been?” he asks.

   “Hell,” I respond, because why lie? It has been.

   He nods to himself and straightens up his papers, putting his pencils away. “Do you want anything to drink? We have juice, milk, water, coffee…”

   “I’m good. Thanks.”

   It would be easy to judge him based on his outer appearance. Such a contradiction to Presley, who’s an absolute ray of sunshine, with long mousy brown hair, bright and round hazel eyes. Short and petite. He’s covered in tattoos from his neck down. His bright blonde hair is always cut in a high fade, with the top slicked back. His facial features are sharp, but his deep blue eyes seem to soften his natural expression.

   Soft creaks caused by Presley’s footsteps make their way up the hallway, and I let out a little sigh of relief.

   She huffs a laugh. “Didn’t wake up once.”

   “I’m sorry again that you had to bring her out. I didn’t think about it when I called.”

   She reaches for my hand that’s resting on the table and gives it a little squeeze before pulling away. “Don’t worry about it. She needed a little bit of help getting to sleep tonight. A car ride usually does the trick.”

   “So, what happens now?” Dane asks. There’s no malice in his tone.

   “I…” My face crumples, and I press the heel of my palms against my eyes.

   I have no fucking idea. Once, I might’ve had somewhere to go, but it’s not an option anymore. The need to escape this town has my restless body feeling as if there’s a bomb inside of me. Tick. Tick. Ticking away. But I’ve fallen so far down into the trenches without any way to climb back out.

   “I don’t know,” I croak out.

   While my thoughts are spiraling out of control, they murmur back and forth to each other.

   “What about the houseboat?” Presley asks quietly.

   “You guys don’t have to worry about me.” I wipe beneath my lower lashes with my sleeve. “I’ll figure it out.”

   “You won’t,” Dane says, so abrupt and certain, tears spring to my eyes again. “I take it your controlling, dick of a father didn’t like the idea of you getting a job when you got out of rehab.”

   “Dane,” she hisses.

   He didn’t. He said I needed to focus on staying well, but I’m not naïve. He didn’t want me back out in town. Not because he cared about my sobriety, but because keeping me locked away assured no more embarrassment could tarnish his name. Without my own money and a steady place to stay, there were no options.

   Shrugging weakly, I tell them the truth. “He didn’t want to worry about the possibility of me embarrassing him again.”

   “How much cash did you manage to save?” He raises a brow.

   “I have around six hundred in cash. There’s no point in looking at my online account. I know he’s already emptied it.”

   “That was a smart move.” Presley smiles at me, and I inwardly glow from the compliment.

   Dane catches my eye and seems to be contemplating. He runs his thumb and fingers across his jaw a few times absentmindedly like he’s formulating a plan, and all I can do is sit and wait.

   “We have a houseboat on a lake a few hours out of town. Ever been to Lake Nova?”

   I shake my head. “I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never been.”

   “It’s insulated and ready to go. I’ll give you a couple of space heaters to take with you, and that should keep the inside pretty warm since the temperature has been falling at night. It has a small TV and kitchenette with a tiny ass bathroom and bedroom, but I won’t charge you anything to stay while you get yourself set.”

   When I open my mouth to protest, he cuts me off, “We’ll also put you on our phone plan tomorrow before you head out, but you’ll need to keep in contact with Presley.”

   Feeling a sense of foolish pride that one with nothing to her name should have no business feeling, I quickly shake my head. “I can’t. It’s too much.”

   “You deserve a fresh start, Tillie,” Presley says softly.

   “I don’t,” I choke out. “I really don’t.”

   “You do,” she says with a fierceness in her voice as she tips her head to catch my eye. “You think I don’t know that something happened? I remember how full of life and laughter you were, and I remember when those things dimmed.”

   Her observation causes me to wince, but she continues, “You’re not a bad person, Tillie. You only need help getting away from here and whatever memories this town holds for you.”

   Bile rises in my throat because I feel like she can see it. The metaphorical filth that clings to my body no matter how hard I try to cleanse myself of it.

   “There are a few places around the lake where you can apply. Once you find a job, we can discuss rent or whatever, but you can stay there for as long as you need. My only conditions are… You stay in contact with Presley at least once a week and stay sober,” Dane explains.

   The only thing I can do is nod because speaking won’t be possible right now without breaking down. We’ve never been close, and they’re willing to do this much for me. A part of my psyche refuses to believe this is real because nothing good has happened in my life for a very long time. I give them both a watery smile, hoping that in this moment, they can sense my thanks.

   “All right.” He knocks the table once with his tattooed knuckles. “Tomorrow, we’ll get everything sorted, but tonight, you can take the couch.”

   After Presley gets blankets, I’m lying alone in the darkness, and the tiniest bit of weight lifts from my shoulders as excitement mixed with fear of the unknown settles in.