“I do. I also have an engine I can throw in it. It would just be the cost of parts to put it together,” he says.
“Beau, I just want to scrap it,” I say firmly.
“Come in and I’ll get you a number,” he says with a shrug. The fact that he is being nice to me starts to piss me off. I’m anticipating something. Anything, really. Screaming, yelling, throwing things. Anything. I know that it is the trauma speaking because that is not who Beau is. He has never been violent, and I don’t think he’s capable of being violent, especially not toward me.
I walk inside, and he goes behind the counter to the computer. I watch as he types, and I’m hoping for at least a few hundred dollars. That will get me into a camper up the hill and a little bit of food to get me through until I can at least get a waitressing job at the diner.
“Looks like it will be a bit over three hundred,” he says. “The amount per pound is pretty low right now.”
“That’s fine,” I say. “I’ll do that.”
“You’d get more selling it for parts,” he says. “That’s as simple as…”
“I don’t have time for that,” I say with an attitude. “I just want to scrap it and I’ll be on my way.”
Beau stands when I’m not expecting it, and it makes me jump. He narrows his eyes at me before looking me up and down. “What’s going on with you, Magnolia?”
“What?” I ask. “Can I just scrap the fucking car, please?”
I’m losing my patience, but I need to chill out because I don’t have the money to move it. I just want to scrap it so I can get away from him before I end up word-vomiting my trauma. Idon’t deserve sympathy, and there is no excuse for what I did. Maybe Chris was my punishment for what I did to Beau.
“Mmm. No. I think I would rather have an answer,” he says as he walks around the counter to stand in front of me. “You come in here after seven years acting sketchy as fuck and expect no one to ask any questions? What happened to you?”
“Nothing. Just forget it. Tow the car for all I care,” I say.
“No,” Beau snaps. “Are you on drugs or something? No one has heard a word from you since you left. You missed every holiday, every birthday, your parents’ funeral… That piece of shit you were dating is now in prison. Is it drug charges? Did he get you into it or something?”
“I’m not on drugs, Beau,” I sigh. I wish it were that simple, honestly.
“What is it? Heroin?” he asks sincerely. “If you need help getting clean, Maggie, I can…”
“Goddamn it, Beau. I’m not on drugs, okay?” I yell at him.
“You show up in the middle of summer wearing a long-sleeved shirt while looking like you haven’t slept in five days, and you expect me not to question it?” he asks with a dry laugh. “Is it track marks or something? You know I would never judge you, Maggie, but you are full of shit if you say that something is not going on with you.”
“I’m gonna go,” I say tearfully. “I shouldn’t have come here.”
“Fuck. Stop,” he sighs and gently grabs my wrist. “I’m sorry. Please don’t run away again.”
“I hurt you, and I shouldn’t be back. I should’ve known that you would be here,” I say, trying to fight off the demons in my mind.
“I care too much about you to let you walk out of here while I think you are strung out on drugs,” he says.
“I’m not on drugs, despite the fact that I look like shit,” I say.
“I didn’t say you look like shit. You are just as beautiful as you have always been, but you look tired. You look like you have been through a lot, and it’s hard to see anything else without knowing what’s going on,” he says.
“I am tired,” I mention. “I just drove across the country.”
“If you aren’t on drugs, let me see your arms,” he says.
“No,” I say quickly.
“Mag… You of all people know that I have no issue being an asshole when I need to be. When your safety is concerned, I will happily be an asshole,” he says. “Show me.”
“Beau,” I say tearfully.
When he pulls me closer and gently pulls my sleeve up, his entire demeanor goes from concern to anger. This is why I wear long-sleeved shirts. People always have questions about the scars. If they don’t directly ask, they look at me with pity.
