Page 8 of Gunner
School came easily to me, but with a strung-out mother, there was no hope for college. I couldn’t leave my brother, Dalton, or my newborn brother, Jacob, alone with our mom, so I tried to brush off the desire to be something more. I wouldn’t leave them, and if it meant putting off my future for them, I would.
Living in the Flats, I saw the worst that society offered and never wanted that future for myself or my brothers. Drugs, prostitution, and random murders were common, and more than a few of my classmates earned their money from the streets.
The sky was growing dark with each step I took, and every noise I heard had me shifting my eyes around, looking for potential problems.
Marco ran the Flats, always knowing who was doing what and using that to his advantage. His grip on the small section of town was extreme, and I never wanted to cross him. I could see the edge of my yard in the far distance, and I shifted the bags in my hands, pushing myself faster toward home.
A man stepped out onto a front porch across the street from me, lighting a cigarette and blowing the smoke into the air. I could feel his eyes roaming over me as I moved past him, and shivers broke out across my body. The smell of weed wafted out the door and music from inside spilled onto the streets.
“Hey, baby,” he said, and I glanced at him, finding two more men standing on the porch with him.
I briefly closed my eyes and continued forward, ignoring him, hoping to get home in one piece. It wasn’t safe on the streets after dark, but I had to pick up Jacob’s formula before I could go home. I was two houses away from the loud men when I heard footsteps behind me.
Quickly, I turned to see the man from the porch following me, his steps matching mine. Walking faster, I tried to keep the panic under control as I crossed the street.
“Where are you going, sweet thing?” he taunted, and I struggled to move quicker with the heavy bags in my arms. “Don’t run off. I wanted to invite you to a party.”
His sick chuckle caused the alarms to scream in my head, and I contemplated dropping the bags and running for home.
“No, thank you,” I replied and glanced over my shoulder to find him less than three feet from me.
“Don’t be like that. I’ve seen you around here. Let me help you carry those,” he reasoned, and I shook my head. A hand gripped my elbow, sending a shock through me, and I gasped as he spun me around and grabbed my shoulders.
“Don’t be a stuck-up bitch. I was offering to help.”
The smell coming off him was horrible, and his once white T-shirt was stained with sweat. His teeth were rotting in his mouth and his eyes were glassy as I struggled under his hold. My eyes caught movement, and I hoped to signal for help when I realized it was another of the men from the house.
Dread filled me as he stepped up to us, crowding me against the stinky man, and tears built in my eyes. This was what I always feared, and my nightmare was coming true right in front of my eyes.
A finger brushed my hair off my shoulder, and the man behind me spoke, his voice scratchy. “What’s the hurry?”
“I . . . I need to get home to feed my brothers,” I replied, praying they would let me go.
“I think your brothers can wait a little bit, don’t you, Rooster?” the man standing too close to my front replied, and a sick laugh echoed around me.
A hard smack against the side of my head made me drop the bags, and I fell to my knees, the concrete digging into my skin as the man behind me grasped my hair in his hand. He wrenched my head back, and I tried to pull away through the foggy haze I was swimming in.
They dragged me back down the street, issuing threats against my brothers that made me not scream for help. Three hours later, I limped out of the house, bloody, broken, and irrevocably changed. I found the bags still sitting on the sidewalk where I dropped them, and I delicately picked up what I could and shuffled down the street to my house.
Dalton was sitting at the dining room table, and I silently left the bags for him to put away. Locking the bathroom door behind me, I refused to look in the mirror as I peeled my clothes off and stood in the hot shower, watching the pink-tinged water swirl down the drain, taking the good parts of me with it.
Tears refused to fall, and I stayed under the water until it turned icy cold. I shoved my clothes into a bag under the sink, and when I opened the door, I found Uncle Mick sitting at the dining room table feeding Jacob. Dalton’s door was closed, and I could hear music coming through it as I straightened my spine, hoping to hide my injuries from my uncle. He glanced up when he heard the door and his appraising stare locked with mine as he burped Jacob and placed him in his playpen.
“I wasn’t expecting you tonight,” I explained and poured myself a glass of water from the tap. “Can I make you something to eat?”
“Sadie, sit down, please,” he reasoned, and the tremor in my hand was showing in the glass of water.
I placed it on the counter and sat down on the worn-out couch across from him. My eyes burned, but the tears still didn’t fall as he leaned over with his arms on his knees and spoke quietly. “Do I need to take you to the hospital?”
My chin wobbled, and I shook my head before clearing my throat. “I’m fine, Uncle Mick.”
“Bullshit, Sadie Elizabeth. Your brother called me and told me you limped into the house and locked yourself in the bathroom. I need to know what happened so I can make sure it never happens again.” His eyes were sympathetic but full of rage.
“I . . . I don’t want to talk about it,” I murmured and shifted, the couch rubbing against my back, causing pain to shoot through me. He could see how much pain I was in, and he stood, pacing the living room.
He came and crouched in front of me, his voice soft and understanding. “Will you show me?”
Nodding, I turned away from him and lifted the back of my shirt, revealing the cuts that were seeping blood. His muttered curses had me pulling my shirt back down and crossing my arms over my chest.
