After graduating from high school, he had trouble holding onto jobs, couldn't stick to the hospitality classes he was taking in college, and eventually decided landscaping would be his big break in life. It was a slow, degenerative progression of his disabling lifestyle. I still stuck by his side, working twice as hard to make the income of two people. I cooked, cleaned, and tended to him as if he was a child.
He never did thank me. Instead, he gave his love and attention to a bottle.
After splashing cold water on my face, I glance into the mirror, noticing the bloodshot appearance within my tired eyes. My complexion is pale, making my hair look darker since it frames my face. Someone might think I look sick.
Maybe I am.
My morning routine feels as though it takes a bit longer than usual, but I'm moving at a sluggish pace, dragging my heavy feet as I mentally check off tasks in my head.
The first thing I made sure to do was refill my flask. I'm sure that's what Keegan would have done before leaving in the morning.
I'm halfway across town when I realize I forgot to change out of my blue fuzzy-slippers.
There's no way I can go into work like this. It's unprofessional, and I have two parent meetings today.
I pull a u-turn on the quiet street I'm driving on but hear a blaring horn as I do so. My gaze catches in the rearview mirror, noticing a sedan stopped crookedly behind me.
Yikes. I hold my hand up, hoping to offer a gesture of apology.
With more pressure on the gas, I take off back toward the apartment, needing to make up for the lost time. I'm driving faster but no more than ten miles over the speed limit. At this time of day, a little extra speed is necessary as everyone tries to race to work.
I shove the parking gear into place as soon as the squeal of my brakes hum. Then, I run up the stairs through the front doors, up to the next set of stairs, and pull myself along the railing for extra support. By the time I reach my front door, I'm struggling to catch my breath.
I must be out of shape.
It takes just a minute or two to locate my work shoes, switch them out for my slippers, and pull the front door closed behind me.
With a death grip on the stairwell railing, I take the steps as quickly as my heels will allow. When I reach the Jeep, I pat myself down, searching for the keys, coming up empty-handed. Where did I leave those?
I spin around, looking up at the apartment building's front entrance, feeling a little dazed and lost. Then, I glance into the Jeep to see if they're still inside. They are.
I never leave my keys inside the Jeep.
My arrival time at work is thirty minutes later than it should be. The house manager is pacing when I arrive, which has me wondering if there's a problem.
I'm not up for handling any issues at the moment. My head is pounding.
"Where have you been?" Leena asks, glancing down at her old-school brown-banded watch. "It's nine-thirty."
"I'm so sorry, Leena. I forgot something at home and didn't realize until I was halfway there."
"I see," she says with a frustrated sigh like she doesn't have time for this conversation we're having. "We have a situation that I need your help with."
"Sure, let me just put my stuff down in my office, and I'll be right there to help."
Screams from upstairs alert everyone in the house that there is a problem. The cry doesn't sound familiar, but it is ripping through my head like a knife.
I drop my things and rush toward the staircase that leads up to the second floor, hearing the screams grow louder.
What in the world is going on?
As I make it upstairs, I follow the sounds through the hallway with small bedrooms attached. The floor creaks, moaning and whining about its old age, in case I didn't already know. I notice the golden chevron wallpaper is peeling outside of the bathroom, probably from the showers' steam. Then I reach the last room, Willa's room. The small space that fits a dresser and a twin size bed contains a screaming thirteen-year-old child.
The site appalls me, steals my unsteady breath. Willa has pulled out chunks of her hair, thick, dark blonde waves, leaving bald, bloody spots in its place.
Willa never speaks, just internalizes her pain.
Keegan never spoke of his pain. He just drank it away.
