Clelia: That woman really is a piece of shit.
Me: She really is. I’m going to bed!
Me: Talking in the mornin’! LOVE YA!
Now that she is taken care of, I kick off my shoes, and start stripping out of my soaked clothes as I stroll toward my tiny bathroom. Once inside the postage-size space, that only has room to turn around in, I start the shower, hoping that this time the water is actually hot and not just a level above frigid temperatures. I step into the lukewarm water, washing my body and scrubbing my hair quickly in theforeverstained shower stall. I promptly wrap the threadbare, thin towel around myself, rushing across the intimately small apartment, and dashing into my bedroom, diving under the sheet and blanket to ward off the chill thrumming through my body.
Sighing, I reach out to the nightstand, cussing when I realize that I not only left my phone on the small Formica table, but that I also left my kindle behind too. I punch the bed because it’s entirely too cold to be unwrapping myself from my cocoon to get up and go get it. I lay there recounting the day, and contemplating the moment that I thought I was about to get run over. The sound of the old radiator kicks on with a loud thud, and the rattle causes me to nearly jump out of my skin.
I rub my hands on both sides of me, feeling the roughness of the sheets on my skin, using them as a way to keep me grounded and in the moment, all while using the phrases I learned from the only therapist who ever helped me. “I’m here. I’m alive. I’m alone. I’m safe.”
I don’t know how long I lay there repeating that chant over and over again, until I finally let the sandman do his magic, sprinkling me with his magical sleep dust, and fade into an exhaustive slumber.
CHAPTERTWO
HENDRICK
I growl out loud,throwing my phone across the SUV, sick and damn tired of all the bullshit. I pinch the bridge of my nose, and close my eyes, just trying to calm my ever-rising blood pressure. Motherfucker, I believed when I took over for my father that everything would be better. I’ve worked tirelessly to bring our organization back on the right side of the tracks from the way my father ran it into the ground. Looks like I have a shit ton more work to get done in order to see that become a reality.
“Boss? Where’re we going?” my driver asks, breaking me free of my internal rant and irritation.
I open my eyes just as the first drop of rain falls, smacking on the windshield before running down the hood like the fallen tears off all the lost souls that followed my father into the ground. I don’t answer him, just continue scrutinizing the rain as it falls.. I need to get back to the office and finish the shit ton of paperwork waiting on me to sign off on. I need to be at the warehouse to look over the incoming freight, and I need to be at the docks again, making sure everything is staying on course..
“Let’s go get our guy. Figure out where the fuck my shipment is.” Grunting, I turn back to the window.
“You’ve got it…. Fucking, hell.” My driver hisses as we blow through a red light, nearly taking out the biggest shit box of a vehicle I’ve ever seen.
There’s no damn way that tin can is even close to being okay to drive. People have no self-respect.
“Some people have no respect for themselves,” my driver grumbles in outrage, mimicking my prior thought, shaking his head in disgust.
His words strike me, and I realize I was being an asshole. I shiver, ice races through my veins, chilling me to the bone like a hungry polar bear's frozen snack. Running my fingers around the top of the hat placed on my knee, I grit out, “Never judge someone for what you can see. What you see isn’t always the truth.”
“That car tells you all you need to know. Hi, I’m a piece of trash, waiting for the garbage man to pick me up. You know someone who drives something like that is one who only wants handouts from a sugar daddy,” he answers in an exaggerated voice.
I need a glass of good whisky and my leather chair. Yet, it’s going to be at least another twelve hours before I’m going to be able to make it back to the office. The rain is falling heavier, making it nearly impossible to see as we speed down the road. I think back to the shit box we nearly pummeled, and how I came up from somewhere just as bad. I learned a long time ago not to judge someone struggling, barely making it day to day. I glance over at the dumbass beside me, deciding that trying to teach him anything is above his IQ, so it’s not worth the waste of my breath to try and educate him.
“Just get us to the damn warehouse. While you’re at it, keep you asinine mouth fucking closed and your opinions to yourself,” I tell him beyond over his shit.
“Yes, sir.”
Turning to watch the world outside the SUV fly by in a blur, I let my past distract me from today's events. Images of my mother smiling down at me as she made me breakfast. My father tiptoeing up behind her, hugging her close to his chest while kissing her neck. He loved her with everything that he had, passionately, and in the end, that made him weak, costing him everything he held close and loved the most. Showing me that to be in the world that we’re in, the world that consumes me, we can’t have it all.
Once it was all taken away, my father became the boogeyman, the nightmare that men in the underworld whispered and warned others about. He became so cold and hard that glass would shatter under his venomous stare. I was rocked to my core in a way that changed who I became. Making me the man that would do what has to do when your life, and everything about it, is put to the test and is in jeopardy… daily.
“Boss, we’re here.” My driver jars me out of the never-ending train of thought, and I look around to take in my surroundings, making sure everything is secure before unbuckling my seat belts latch.
“Let’s get the mother fucking show on the road,” I state, placing my hat on my head as I grab the old rolled leather bundle of tools sticking under my arm as I step out of the SUV, heading straight for the warehouse situated in front of me where tonight's job is ready and waiting for me.
I drop my head down enough that you can’t see my face under the shadow of my cap. Walking methodically across the dirt-covered, concrete floor I make my way into the belly of the beast. The sounds of quiet sniffling and coughing floods my ears as I take a step out of the shadows and into the bright lights that are shining down on the four men sitting in chairs waiting on me.
The way the light bounces off of them, it gives them the appearance of wearing halo’s. That’s a joke. These men are the furthest from angels, and when I’m done with them they’ll beg to meet the devil himself. Unlucky for them, they’ve crossed the Boogeyman's son. I walk around the four of them, taking in each one individually. Each one of them showing me different levels of fear, resentment, stress, resignation. The look of fear they shoot at me satisfies the beast roaring and clawing inside of me, watching and waiting is that of hopelessness and acknowledgement that their end is near.
I make it to the table set up and wait nonchalantly for my tools. Taking the old leather roll out from under my arm, I set it softly on the table, my chest rumbling in anticipation. The tears and screams of others as I punish them for their misdeeds is the only thing that eases the beast residing inside. Running my finger down the worn, soft leather, I pull the small cowhide r strap, unrolling it, revealing and exposing all my favorite extracurricular toys. They range from bright, glossy metallic to mat black, all designed to provide different types and levels of pain. Well pain for the one on the wrong end of my equipment. The joy it brings to me is like nothing ever has, or ever will.
Hiding my gleeful smirk, I turn back to the men in the chairs, raising my head meeting the eyes of each and every one of them. I allow the sinister smile to stretch across my face instead of keeping it a secret, laughter bubbles from the depths of my chest as the color quickly drains from each of them in succession. The last time I was able to play with my toys was the night my father took his last breath. My skin grows tight as adrenaline surges through my veins, settling me in the same manner as a drug addict after they take the first hit of their chosen poison..
“Now, gentlemen, we seem to have quite a problem as of late,” I lyrically drawl, adding a southern twang to my tone for dramatic effect, making eye contact with each and every one of them. I fear no man, and make sure they know they’re where they are because it’s where I want them to be.
