The Boy Who Broke Me

Secrets

GAVIN

I don't expect him to be back for days.

With the money he got last night, Vincent will stay high and out of the house for at least a week, maybe even longer. Just as well, I think. Part of me feels a huge sense of relief that I won't have to see his face, but another part of me worries this may be the time he doesn't come back at all.

Vince and I have always had a tenuous relationship, but since last night I feel more ambivalent than ever. Sometimes, I think about all the ways he's screwed up over the past few years and it makes me hate him so much that I can't stand it. It makes me sick, and I catch myself daydreaming about a day in the future when he might get locked up for good or overdose or something. I get lost thinking about it, but then I want to kick myself because I remember I'd have nothing without him. Vince is the only reason I have a job, a car, or clothes on my back today. Not to mention a roof over my head.

Even though he's been in a bad way for a while, he's still always managed to keep things together. Vince might be an addict but living with him will always be better than living with my mom.

Even before she was a full-blown junkie, her life was a total mess. She would stay gone for days at a time, proing around to get money. She never ever had a real job, and it was always pretty obvious what she did to support herself. I was only a kid at the time, but even I knew what was happening. As far back as I can remember, there were always random men knocking on whatever sleazy motel door we were staying in at the time, coming around all hours of the night and day. In the beginning, she would bring them inside and make us kids to go outside to play. Near the end, she got lazy and would just lock us in the bathroom with the music turned up too loud, hoping we couldn't hear anything.

Eventually she started going out on her own earlier and earlier in the morning, staying gone most of the time. Some nights she would come back, occasionally with a fresh set of bruises but almost always so high she could barely keep her eyes open. On a good day she'd bring us back some snack cakes, fast food, or something cheap to eat. On a bad day, we wouldn't see her at all.

After a string of bad days my sisters and I would have to resort to eating toothpaste, ground coffee, or anything else we could find in whatever shithole we were living in. The day we were taken away for the last time, I remember Gracie was so hungry she couldn't stop crying.

Vincent might be a junkie, but he's nothing like her. Even when he started using every day, I knew he'd be better. No matter how bad he's screwing up, Vince has always kept some anchors in his life. He's kept his tattoo shop open every day and food in the fridge, dope sick or not.

No matter how many times I replay it in my head, I still can't believe that Vinny actually shot the kid. I know he's an angry guy and has been in more than his fair share of fights but still, I mean, really shoot someone? That shit is crazy even for him. I know he wouldn't win any prizes, but I'd never thought he'd be capable of something like that.

Vince shot someone. He shot a kid, a kid my age. A kid like me.

I wring my face through my hands and try again to sort everything out that's running through my head, but it feels impossible. I'm burnt out and I just want to undo everything that's happened. Shakily and impulsively, I scrub every surface of my hands, washing them again and again until they're spotless. It takes forever and by the time it's done I feel tired enough to at least lay on my bed.

I don't know how, but through some miracle I manage to fall asleep. It's more like being half awake though because the entire time I feel semiconscious and hyper aware of the room around me. More than once I slam into wakefulness, hearing the shot again and seeing that kid's face before he falls. Each time it happens, I sit up so fast in bed that I nearly fall onto the floor. Each time my heart starts pounding like it was last night, making my clothes damp with sweat. It's excruciating, but after about the third time I somehow learn to talk myself out of it and force myself back to sleep. It's like training my body to ignore my mind and live as a completely separate entity. A ghost in a machine.