Comin' Home to You (30 page)

Clint lowered his arm and the baggy with it. His eyes were locked on the baseball. “So, I take it you don’t want any of this crystal?”

Fuck, yes I do! Load that shit! Fuck.
Ali trembled for a brief moment. “Yeah I do. But I ain’t gonna partake, not this time.”

“Just a quick hit?”

“Not even that. I want to fuckin’ leave.”

Cautiously taking a step forward, Clint showed actual amazement with his facial gestures. “I think you are full of shit, Ali. I know you. Never mattered how pissed you were at me. Hell, I remember all the times we fought and I smacked you around like the bitch you are. Even after all that shit, whenever I offered up some smack or crystal, you were back to suckin’ my dick for it in no time. So, I’m callin’ your bluff, bitch. I think you are full of shit. You’re gonna smoke this shit with me, because you will. That’s who you are.”

He was right. She could be degraded, beaten and humiliated by him, but as long as he was holding something that could get her high, she would always go back to him. But this time, she had to fight. Even at this juncture, it took every ounce of her willpower to resist the temptation. The thoughts of Austin smiling helped mitigate each craving for the drug. “I ain’t doin’ it.”

Clint nodded with a smirk reappearing on his face. “Well fuck, it’d be a shame for me to smoke all of it.”

Walking over to Austin’s dresser, he cleared off a spot on top of it. Conveniently pulling out a glass meth pipe and a lighter out of his back pocket, he placed the pipe on the dresser. While originally clear, the pipe had been used so much that it was practically white, like trying to see through a fogged window on a cold day. He then reached into the baggy and loaded it with smashed shards of the meth. He did this all while keeping a close eye on Ali. She’d like to believe that this was an elaborate machination to torture her, but this was sadly who he was. He always came prepared, and had quite a few criminal charges for possession of drug paraphernalia as proof.

Even though he constantly had his back turned to her, Ali hesitated upon sprinting out of the room. Clint had a penchant for mind games. He was mocking her, alluring her to try to run out the door. But the moment she tried, he would physically stop her. He would never let her out. Ali wasn’t sure what he was capable of right now. He was still seething from the fight with her father, in which Owen had a chance to end his life. Clint already had visible proof of the scrap; a large bruise where Owen jammed the end of a steel nail file into the side of his head. He had made threats in the past to kill her before, though this was in between bouts of drunkenness and overwhelming highs, and he never actually made an attempt to end her. Now, she genuinely felt like she may not leave this room alive. A lump in her throat confirmed her crushing fear.

Once the meth pipe was loaded and fit for use, Clint lit his lighter, holding the flame underneath the bulb area of the pipe. He inhaled deeply as the noxious smoke filled his lungs. Tilting his head back, a look of bewilderment and pleasure came over his face. His eyes stared at the ceiling, letting the smoke work its magic within his body. His body seemed comatose and mellow, making Ali’s mind believe this was a moment ripe for action. Her grip hadn’t loosened on the ball, but at this close range, she wasn’t positive she could really do a lot of damage to Clint. Before she could make a move, he looked at her with the same stupid smirk, wiping his nostrils with the back of his hand. Silently, he gestured to Ali with his arm and pointed to the smoking pipe held loosely in his fingertips.

When she stood still like a statue, Clint’s face grew aggravated. “You fuckin’ kiddin’ me right now? You seriously gonna turn down this shit? Get your stupid ass over here and take a hit. Now.”

Ali said nothing, adjusting her grip on the baseball.

The couple each held their ground. His face grew angrier, while her gestures remained stoic and unwavering. She again adjusted her grip on the baseball, finding what she knew as a perfect placement for her fingers on the seams. Placing the pipe on the dresser, Clint’s eyes veered down to her hand. In an instant, his face showed a flash of concern, as if seeing a sudden vision of the future. As quickly as she could, she hurled the baseball with her arm. Ali didn’t get the power she could have if she had stepped into the throw, but it was fast enough, as if her arm strength didn’t skip a beat from her softball days. The throw didn’t waste any motions. She felt the speed of the leather zip off of her fingertips.

The ball had plenty of velocity and was straight…but straight into the wall behind Clint.

Clint was wide eyed, like a buck staring straight into oncoming headlights. He felt the whizz of the ball fly past his oily hair, and he was aware that if it was a couple inches to the right, that he would probably be a bloody mess. But his eyes went from wide to squinting and vividly twitching. His eyebrows arched. The grinding of his yellowed teeth almost blared through the hushed bedroom. His hands made a popping sound as he tightly squeezed his fists. Ali’s own hands trembled, and her breath suddenly escaped her. She knew what was coming.

Muttering the word bitch under his breath, Clint threw a right haymaker at his fiancé. Like her father the previous day, she reacted quickly. Ducking under it with fleet body work, she flew past him and managed to grab Austin’s suitcase with the ends of her fingertips. But as she attempted to run out the open entryway, the luggage slipped from those same fingertips. For a moment, she hesitated in retrieving the dropped suitcase before getting the hell out of there. That small amount of indecision gave enough time for Clint to spin around and grab the lower back portion of Ali’s tight red shirt. Her body jerked toward him without control as he pulled her like a rag doll. A blow in the form of a closed fist struck the back of her skull, but it didn’t faze her. Even with a grip on her shirt, she still attempted to escape wildly. The fabric of her shirt made popping noises from it stretching. She used every ounce of power she had in her fairly skinny legs in efforts to rip away from Clint’s handle. But an abrupt forearm wrapped around her windpipe ceased any further effort.

Clint squeezed on the neck of Ali, putting his arms in a figure four to increase the leverage and strength of the chokehold. The crushing feeling on her throat left her unable to breathe. With her fingernails, she clawed desperately at his exposed arm, drawing blood. But that didn’t stop Clint. He continued to constrict the air flow of Ali, as if he didn’t feel any pain. She even slapped at the bruised portion of his head, but that had no effect either. He was squeezing so hard that tears wear dripping from her red and bulging eyes. She had to think of something in the next second or else her life would truly come to an end. She had no ability to kick at or attack with her fists or elbows. Clint likely wouldn’t even feel it. But if there was something Clint would feel, it would be the pain of loss, and there was only one thing Clint hated losing more than anything.

Clint was addicted to drugs and all that implies. If drugs were a sports team, he would be a season ticket holder. He wasted nothing and kept every piece of drug equipment like he was saving it for a scrapbook. Ali had been slapped in the face for a microscopic amount of cocaine that fell to the dirty carpeted floor during a snorting session. She was surprised he didn’t force her to sniff it from the carpet. Another time, Austin had accidentally stepped on one of Clint’s glass pipes that was in the floor for some reason, cracking it. If Austin hadn’t fled and Ali hadn’t pleaded with her fiancé to stop, Austin would have been beaten. To what extent was a road she didn’t want to traverse. Clint had also broken one of his cousin’s nose for forgetting to buy cold medicine for their meth operation. It was ridiculous how obsessed he was with drugs. She had to make it his downfall.

With her last remaining bits of strength, Ali dragged Clint toward the dresser where the small baggy of meth and pipe lay idle. Even though she was still a few feet away, she extended her arm for it, hoping that by some miracle, her arm would magically stretch and be able to grab the items.

And like that, the arm around her throat stopped squeezing, and Ali fell to the floor, gasping for breath. She was glad for the reprieve, but it was fleeting. A colossal blow rammed in to her stomach, in the form of Clint’s foot. Instantly grimacing and shuddering in pain, Ali coughed fiercely. She was sure she had passed out for a moment. Either that, or Clint had teleported to the corner of the room, taking another hit off of his pipe while peeking through the blinds of the window. She also didn’t remember having vomit all over chin.

Squatting down next to Ali’s face, Clint had a devious grin on his face. Letting out a small cough, he looked her up and down. “You think I was actually gonna kill you? I ain’t sayin’ it ain’t a bad idea. I would want nothin’ more than the squeeze that stupid whore Tomkins neck right off ya. But, killin’ you would make your gay ass daddy come in here guns blazing. I’d still take him down, ya know, since I’m a fuckin’ badass. But I like to measure my risks from time to time.”

Ali said nothing. She couldn’t even if she tried. Her windpipe felt pinched shut and all the noises that managed to escape her lips were pained wheezes.

“So, what I think I’ll do is call your daddy, tell him I got his dear ol’ little girl all writhin’ and screamin’ in pain and that if he don’t come here unarmed, that I’m gonna kill you! Then, when he comes, I’m gonna chop off his dick, shove it up his ass, put it in his mouth, then blow his fuckin’ brains out with a shotgun. How’s that sound?”

Ali slowly rose to her knees. Glaring at her now ex-fiancé, the realization that she had been wanted so badly came to fruition. She hated this man with every fiber of her being. Balling up her fist, Ali extended her middle finger upward with pride. She couldn’t speak, but that gesture would do more than enough to exclaim how she felt about his plans.

He struck her in the face with an lightning quick open palm in retaliation. His smirk was now gone, and a face filled with rage replaced it. Igniting his lighter, Clint grabbed her arm and held it over the flame. She struggled to loosen from his grip by struggling and attacking him with her unencumbered arm, but he stayed vigilant. Ali screamed in agony as her forearm turned red. She felt doomed to this torture until he died. She was fully on board with her father now. No doubt remained in her mind.

She continued to struggle, mitigating some of the damage to the arm because of Clint having to repeatedly reposition his lighter. However, both stopped when the front screen door made a loud closing sound.

Clint instantly let go of Ali’s arm and quickly stood up into a prepared position. “Who the fuck is that?” he whispered.

“Clint, you here!?”

Scar,
Ali thought. At least now Clint wouldn’t have a choice but to stop torturing her. Scar had no tolerance for it and refused to be a part of it. He had mentioned to Clint many times that if he ever saw the deeds being done, that he would beat Clint’s ass all over the county.

Even in a great deal of agony, Ali rose to her feet about the time Scar appeared in the open doorway. A skeptical look appeared on his face, but he didn’t say anything. Ali muttered to be excused under her breath when she passed Scar to go to the kitchen. Turning on the faucet, she gritted her teeth, placing her burnt arm under the cold running water. The arm was red in multiple places, but she reassured herself that she would be fine. She could take this kind of pain. She found some comfort in that she hopefully wouldn’t be experiencing such abuse much more.

Finding a ziplock bag under the sink, she placed a few cubes of ice from the freezer into the clear bag, then firmly put it on her arm. She winced for a moment as the cold cubes clashed against her burned skin. Hearing low whispers from her son’s room, Ali did her best to make out what the two brothers were talking about. She heard Scar speaking about how Clint needed to step up and there were words about last night. Clint replied, but she couldn’t make it out. Leaning her rear against the kitchen counter, she almost let out a tear. She thought about taking a knife out of a drawer and cutting her wrists until they were a crimson waterfall, just to get away from this madness. Smoking some crystal would bring better emotions back to her. For a second, she tried to remember where the backup pipe was. Before she thought too hard about the subject, she made sure Austin’s face came to mind. He was her only saving grace right now.

A minute later, Scar emerged into the kitchen. Clint didn’t follow him, but she had no complaints about that. Looking her up and down, Scar’s face remained plain and stoic. “He didn’t hurt you too bad, did he?”

“Nothing I can’t handle.”

“It won’t happen again.”

“Haven’t you said that before?”

Scar scratched the back of his neck. “I guess I have. But he won’t do it again.”

Ali mockingly sneered at Scar and removed the ice pack from her arm for a moment, staring at the redness of her appendage. Her skin would peel, that she was sure of. She hoped it wouldn’t scar. She didn’t need to draw more attention to her arms. There were needle marks from when she was experimenting with injecting. There was also a scar where she cut herself when on pills. She felt embarrassed by them, so whenever she did go out in public, she did what she could to cover them up with makeup.

Clint walked by the two, barely even giving a passing glance on his way out the front door. Ali stared at Scar, but he only replied with his own confused face. There was never any way of telling what Clint was thinking.

Ali was curious what they were discussing in the back. “What were y’all talking about?”