Comin' Home to You (5 page)

But before he could march in there and set their paths straight, little Ali walked into the kitchen, holding one of her dolls in one hand and one of the doll’s detached arms in the other. Her face had disappointment written all over it, but it wasn’t the first time one of her toys broke, and she knew her father could fix them. Kneeling down and examining the toy, it was ridiculous how many times he had to glue and repair her shoddy made knockoff Barbie dolls they purchased from a dollar store. Both he and Patricia wanted to buy her more and better made dolls for their precious little daughter, but reality set in each time they looked at their funds. She deserved better. They all deserved better. As he examined the doll and its dislodged plastic arm, a cockroach scattered from underneath the sink and right by Ali’s feet. She never noticed it, but it gave Owen all the validation he needed. More money was way better than less. With a calmer disposition, Owen returned to the bathroom, deciding that she could continue her business venture, as long as she recommitted to no more drug use while Ali was in the house. With a smile on her face, she agreed.

Months later and thanks to their extra income, they were living in a modest house surrounded by the forested area the couple played in as children. Seeing Ali running free for the first time in the backyard remains one of the best memories of his life. Yet, in the back of his mind, it bothered him that the memory was created by the selling of drugs. He never truly was a moral man, but something felt inherently wrong with the situation. He even had swallowed his pride and started selling himself to further increase their profit. However, he almost quit the illegal activity once he found out that the person receiving a hefty cut for their work was none other than one of Owen’s most hated enemies, Roy Grayson. He had recently encouraged Patricia to upgrade in terms of product, notably pain killers, cocaine and heroin. When Owen confronted her and told her that this had to end, she changed his mind with a blow job. She had always had her ways to get what she wanted.

It wasn't long before Owen and Patricia were experimenting with harder drugs. When Ali was being watched by Owen’s mother, they would partake in a new euphoria. While a blur now, he recalled the basic consistencies of their nights: Fighting, fucking and sleeping. Despite his best efforts to stop and be the family man he needed to be, the cravings pulled him further in. Cocaine had become his new mortal enemy and savior. Every day was a fight of resistance, but when he succumbed and took that magical bump of coke, all his sins of being a terrible father were forgiven. Both he and his girlfriend loved the feeling, and they showed it often physically. They were addicted, and neither could truly deny it.

Owen took a seat on his bed and stared deeply at the light brown leather of his glove. A pain in his side halted his trip down memory lane. It really didn't matter, as he could never recall the next three years anyway. Ali's first day of kindergarten, the night he finally proposed to Patricia, or the day his mother was diagnosed with lung cancer; all were past occurrences that once found residence in his brain, but due to the overuse of drugs and alcohol, were evicted. However, the one thing he did remember during that time frame was the apex of his downward spiral. A Roaring 20's seller, handpicked by Roy to be the couple’s distributor of their newest venture, white powder heroin, had agreed to meet them in a hotel room in Longview. After selling the couple a kilo of his product, the distributor, clad in a leather vest with greasy long black and gray hair, shamelessly offered an extra gram for free if Patricia would have sex with him.

Just a month before, they had started using heroin. Both were in agreement that it was by far the best drug they’ve had. The talon claws of the drug were sunk deep into their backs, but they didn’t mind. However, this was a ridiculous proposal. Surely she wouldn’t do such an act for it. But the vivid memory of the hesitant Patricia glancing at him, waiting for him to say something, still occasionally haunted Owen in his constant nightmares. His thoughts at that time were paranoid and assumptive.
Why is she looking at me like that? Why the fuck did she not say no? Does she want the heroin that badly? If that’s the case…then I want it too.

Instead, he replied only with silence, his eyes intensely staring into the small baggy that the seller was holding in between his fingers. Patricia set her eyes on the baggy too. With an unenthusiastic yes that hid her depression, she took the baggy from the distributor’s fingers, then handed it to Owen. He promised to save her half. She nodded with a look of a young child, whose beloved dog died. Focusing only on the powerful substance in his hand, he quickly and quietly took the gram into the bathroom to give the two of them privacy. Using the bathtub to support his back, he took a seat on the floor. After tying up his bicep with a leather belt, he allowed the needle to penetrate an exposed vein. Even though there was a piercing pain, he knew true bliss was nigh. But as he waited for it to take effect, he could hear the grunting sounds of the distributor and skin slapping against each other. Patricia’s moans, though quiet and timid at the start, picked up in zeal as the fucking progressed. He immediately wondered what the fuck he was thinking for even allowing this. But then the heroin kicked in. He no longer cared.

Seeing the opportunities in front of her, Patricia began prostituting herself out for more cash and drugs, no longer even asking for her fiancé’s permission. Seeking his own payback, Owen bedded many other women during a yearlong span. At first, it was fun to be constantly high and having a new woman riding him every night. But what once was an exciting new way of life slowly unraveled into a fucked up state. Each new partner went from elating him to deadening his soul. He was seeing his daughter less and less. If they weren’t doing drugs together or infrequently being parental figures to their daughter, he never spent any time with Patricia. How they were even still a couple was a mystery. Rumors were spreading about how easy she was and the acts she would perform for drugs. He even heard gossip that made his skin crawl about how she fucked multiple men at once.

But the rumor that broke the camel’s back was that she had fucked Roy Grayson. She denied a great deal of the chatter and even vehemently rebuffed the rumor of her and Roy, but just hearing his name and hers associated made him ill. All of this shit had reached the breaking point. Despite the cheating, drug addiction and squabbling between the two, something was still holding them together. One night, alone in the darkness, he had tied off a leather belt to his bicep. He put the prepped syringe needle on his exposed vein. But all he could think of were the happier times. There was something about being poor and struggling that kept them a closer knit family. All he longed for were the days before all of this started. To do that, a change had to be made. He let the syringe fall to the floor below him. He swore the next man to make an attempt of intercourse on his future wife would meet a brutal end.

While he wasn’t the most ardent believer, Owen was sure God was smiling upon him, as it was the white powder heroin dealer, the man who implanted the idea of Patricia soliciting sexual favors for more product, who drove Owen over the edge. It had been a couple of years since their first meeting, but they usually met every month at the same hotel location. The couple entered the dealer's room, and as soon as they closed the door, the dealer confidently grabbed his crotch and asked Patricia for a blow job. It had become second nature for her that she mindlessly fell to her knees in front of him to perform the deed. Pride and anger came over him as he bellowed his opposition. Her lifeless eyes turned toward him, wide and unbelieving. He let his non-verbal motions speak, shaking his head gently. His own eyes doing their best to show reassurance. Candidly, the drug dealer asked Owen if he wanted to suck his dick instead. Driven into a berserker rage by the insult, he rushed to the dealer and began beating him senseless. He broke his nose and jaw with furious blows, as the dealer never had a moment to defend himself. Even today, Owen remembers the blood dripping off his fists. He didn’t stop until the distributor was a swollen and unconscious shell of his former self. Patricia’s hands were shaking. Her eyes raced from Owen to the bag of heroin on the hotel room table. 15 years later, he still remembered what she said with tears in her eyes.

“You should have done that the first time!”

She grabbed the heroin and sprinted out the door. Looking upon his deserving victim of his rage, he quickly realized that she had the keys to the truck. Patricia was already backing out before Owen somehow grabbed the passenger door handle and flung his body into the moving vehicle. As they drove back to their home in Adrienne, Owen had enough of this life. He yanked the packed bag of heroin, ripped a hole in it with his fingernails and let the powder fly into the wind behind them. The two wasted no breaths screaming and shouting at each other.

“WHY THE FUCK DID YOU DO THAT!?”

“I had to!”

Patricia screamed furiously and loudly that Owen wanted to cover his ears.

“How the fuck did we come to this!? We cheat on each other! We barely even see our own daughter! We’re fucking addicted to this shit. Who the fuck are we!?”

“It’s your fucking fault that this all happened!”

“Yes, I know.”

“How could you? How could you seriously let some guy fuck me? You’re supposed to be my husband one day! And you sit there as some fucking stranger says that to me? And only now, after what? Two years, right? You finally fucking do something?”

“Oh shit, don’t act like you didn’t want that gram either!”

“Fuck you. You should have been a fucking man! And I can’t believe you threw all of my heroin away! You fucking dickhead!”

Owen could only reply with apology after apology. Tears fell freely on that ride home. He begged that they get help, counseling, anything to save what they had built. All that he asked was that things go back to the way they were. But all she could say was that they were fucked either way. She spoke the truth. Even if they managed to patch things up, Owen had beaten a member of the Roaring 20’s and rid himself of a very expensive bag of heroin. Retribution would be coming.

As he continued down his chronological list of memories, Owen realized that the glass of stale water he recently consumed was not enough to quench his dehydration. While he drank booze almost every night, when he wasn’t drinking, he actually was consuming plenty of water and making some attempts to better himself. Once a week, he would go hiking or run a mile through the woods. Even though he knew that such a small amount of exercise wasn't enough to truly make a difference, he still felt good doing something that required physical exertion. On his short trek to the kitchen for a fresh glass of water, he suddenly felt weak. He held on to a dining chair to keep his balance, but another crippling abdominal pain brought him down. His knees fell to the linoleum floor with a soft thud. His arms hugged his stomach. Softly, he leaned over and placed his forehead on the floor and used it as balance. The pain was so agonizing that a tear trickled out of Owen's tightly squinted eyes. He could take his fair share of physical suffering, but this was something else entirely. He prayed to whoever listened to ease his suffering.

The pattering of footsteps on the back porch caught Owen’s attention, giving him a reason to take his mind off of the pain. The back door creaked open, and a brown-haired young boy with beads of sweat dotting his head and holding a baseball glove walked in.

“Grandpa, I'm thirsty...Grandpa? What's wrong?”

It took every ounce of his being to formulate a response. “I'm fine, Austin...could you get me a glass of water there, bud?”

“Yeah, sure.”

As Austin tiptoed and pulled out two glasses from the cabinet, Owen used the dinner table to lift himself from the ground. He was still in a significant amount of pain, but there was no way he could display it in front of his only grandchild. Showing weakness in front of anyone was unacceptable. It was something his father taught him as a boy.

“Here you go, Grandpa,” spoke the worried Austin as he handed Owen a filled glass.

It was cold and clean, just as spring water in the country should taste. The water was so refreshing that it practically healed his aches. Alcohol had its perks, but it could never be as cleansing as cold water on a hot day. After rubbing his eyes gingerly, he noticed Austin's wide green eyes staring at him.

“Are you sure you are okay, Grandpa?”

“Yeah, bud. Just a bad stomach ache, that's all.”

The young boy looked around the room and noticed the beer cans that Owen had yet to throw away. It was something he was sadly used to seeing. A frown came over his face. “Are you sure you didn't drink too much, Grandpa?”

Just what he needed; another family member calling him out on his bad habits. For it to be his nine year old grandson, however, was a punt to the groin. He put on an innocent facade, but there was a maturity in him that most kids his age did not possess. Austin had seen what alcohol can do. His parents were living proof.

“You're right. I do drink too much.” He was truthful in his response. He couldn't lie to his grandson.

Austin shrugged his shoulders. “Then maybe you should stop?”

The enthusiasm in his young voice made Owen crack a smile. “Maybe I should.”

“My dad drinks a lot too. He gets really mad when he does.”

The comment peaked Owen's curiosity. “What do you mean?”

“Um, well, I don't know. I didn't do anything wrong.”

“What did he do to you?”