“That’s for touching her.” Erich spit at the man who was rolling in my vomit, then dug in his pocket and revealed a small bag of white crystals. He opened it, sprinkling the contents over his latest enemy before dropping the bag over the railing as well. “That’s for asking so nicely.”
I clutched my stomach, feeling the now-familiar icy heat of a cold sweat take over my body. The waves of pain were making me feel ill, but not ill enough to vomit again. Erich’s hand grazed my shoulder as he leaned down, the concern etched in his knit eyebrows and stiff jaw. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” I grunted, leaning forward as if the motion would help the crest of pain taking over my stomach. I gaped down and noticed my pants were damp, and panic rose from my aching belly to my racing heart.
Erich saw it too, and the next thing I knew, he was picking me up, practically grabbing me and holding me in his arms, with one arm in the crook of my knees and his other arm underneath my shoulders. “How hard did he hit you?” he asked as his pace quickened to the car. “I think there’s a hospital next town over. We’ll figure it out.”
“Not hard…” The smell of blood drifted to my nostrils, and I started to put the pieces together. My cheek brushed Erich’s jacket, my gaze following the line of his collarbones up to his face. “Actually… he might’ve done me a favor.”
Erich stopped, the Nova only a few feet away, as he fixated on me in his arms.
“What?”
“It’s either my period or I miscarried.” I choked on my inappropriate laugh as Erich’s eyebrows rose in surprise atmy realization, and maybe further surprise at how disgustingly hilarious I found the whole situation.
Because if you don’t laugh, you cry. And it was another piece of the puzzle as I found my own therapy through the worst part of my young life.
“Wait…” I said aloud. Erich was setting me down in an attempt to open the passenger side door for me. His weary gaze in my direction was ironically amusing in my deranged mind, as I thought of how he was thinking about how he got stuck with me, a basket case, by passing through Mississippi. “Why did you have his meth?”
Erich sighed, but it turned into a chuckle as he ushered me into the car. “Meth heads always bet the house.” His smirk etched itself in my brain as he leaned down and buckled my seatbelt for me. My cheeks burned as I thought of the fact I’d be bleeding on his passenger seat, but he didn’t seem concerned about my situation. “I probably would’ve made a good profit on that one, too. But that was satisfying enough giving it back to him.”
Chapter 14 – August 18, 1993 – Camille
Needless to say, I still believed my theory was correct. And the bombshell realization that I was unknowingly pregnant for eight to nine weeks, only to be punched by an angry meth head, was a blessing in disguise. I’m not too sure what we could’ve done if my druggie Jesus hadn’t appeared at the right moment. I cringe thinking of what my options would’ve been.
Thankfully, I survived without having to be seen by a doctor. The thoughts in my brain throughout the whole process were mostly about what I would do if things went terribly. Use a fake alias to go to the nearest hospital? Leave before they needed to identify me? I was always under the impression that if you go to the hospital for an emergency, you don’t need to provide any details about who you are. However, I was not about to find out how true that was, given my situation and life on the run.
The morning after, I woke up to a box of heavy-duty menstrual pads, a bottle of Motrin, and Erich’s sock filled withrice. The remainder of the cheap gas station rice was in the box, sitting next to the TV, the cardboard top ripped open. The sock and uncooked rice confused me greatly, and my miscarriage fairy godmother was in the shower while I tried to decipher their meaning.
It was a makeshift heating pad. Throw it in the microwave, and you’re set for about a half hour. I laughed until I cried watching Erich take his own sock and nuke it in the stained, end-of-life contraption the motel claimed to be a microwave. And it got worse. I couldn’t breathe when I watched the strategy planning in his head as he realized he hadn’t thought through his knightly gesture before finally sticking the sock’s pair in his jean pocket and slipping his boots on his bare feet.
I took three weeks off from our shenanigans to rest and bleed in peace, plus monitor myself to ensure I passed everything. More sheer luck, and I came out unscathed. We decided to go West for a while rather than continue North and East. So, I watched a lot of “Full House” from Pennsylvania to Ohio, through the farmlands of the Midwest, past the mountains in the Rockies… A long, boring journey for me, riddled with the anxiety of making sure I wasn’t dying in the process. But Erich was making it work while funding my traumatic recovery.
After I fully recovered and knew my body was working the way it was made to, I wanted to go to California, arguing it was a big state and I’d never been there before. We were so close, driving through Oregon. Erich was stubborn and refused. His compromise was the southernmost part of Oregon, and I could step outside the car to “see the border.”
I didn’t have much room to stand convincing Erich to take me to the Golden State, so Merrit, Oregon, it was. It was a normal night until I noticed Erich was drinking much more and much faster than usual. He was starting to fall victim to hisown scams, missing the cue ball on purpose the first time, and then by accident the second time. He had become the person he hoped to run into, beaten by sober bar-goers taking advantage of his bets.
I had to give up on feeding shots to the dairy farmer who promised me $20 for a cab home and a warm dinner when I grabbed him by his shirt collar at only 8:30 at night to leave before we lost money on his vulnerability. A gamble that had gone too far.
I was kicking myself for not convincing Erich to teach me how to drive within the last few months we had been on the road together. I had plenty of time, and it would have saved me a lot of agonizing boredom to practice driving in the parking lot during my scam hiatus. I was forced to get into the passenger seat of the car, leaving my intoxicated companion to drive.
I was worried about him. He was usually more careful. I also couldn’t help but be worried for myself. Dying in a car accident with a drunk driver wasn’t exactly how I had pictured my final moments.
Erich buckled his seatbelt before adjusting the rearview mirror, his eyes slowly drifting to the side to check my reaction before he made a comment. I was glaring holes into his achingly roguish face, causing his crooked smile to grow.
“You’re a fucking killjoy, you know that?” he asked, turning the key to start the car before acknowledging my unsatisfied aura.
“Drive. Do it slow. One wrong move and I’ll figure it out on my own.” My voice came out cold, impatient with his attempt at games.
“Easy, Bambi.” His satisfaction with the fact that he was getting under my skin caused the heat of anger to take refuge in my already warm face. His foot moved to the brake as he put thecar in reverse, backing up before shifting gears to drive and pull out of the parking lot.
I could smell the whiskey permeating through his jacket. The only comforting thought with the sickening, sharp alcoholic smell was how I could smash his face in when we got back to the room.Ifwe got back to the room.
“I’m kidding,” he finally said after we had been on the road for about a minute in silence. “I’m not sure what I’d do without you.” He murmured the last part dreamily from behind the wheel, nearly crossing the centerline as we drove down the road to our hotel.
I was staring daggers at him as the terror of his impaired driving engulfed my senses. He corrected himself with a small smirk and a comment under his breath, nearly missing the turn for where we were staying that night. “I promise, I’m not drunk. I barely drank. See? Ask me anything. I can’t sing the ABC’s backwards, though. I’m not sure I know anyone who can…”
I didn’t believe him, though I had never seen him drunk before. Maybe a little under the influence, but never to the point of it being obvious. “Alright. Keep your eyes on the road and stop zig-zagging, then maybe I’ll believe you.”
