A shadow crosses over me, and I squint, opening one eye.
“You alive, kid?” he asks.
Coughing, I lift my hand to my lips. “Barely,” I admit.
“You know where you are?”
Shaking my head, I try to make eye contact with him, but there are two of him and I find it’s hard to focus.
“Shit. Let’s load him up. Get a doc to look him over, then take his ass… wherever.”
The woman crouches beside the man and my heart leaps in my throat. She’s gorgeous. She’s all blonde hair, long tanned legs, and big tits. Her face is caked heavy with makeup, but she makes that shit look epic.
She reaches out, cupping my cheek, her thumb sliding across my bottom lip. “Cuda, he’s just a boy. Can’t be over eighteen. Doesn’t even have stubble.”
“Babe,” the man groans.
“It’s our duty, if he’s good you’ll sponsor him.”
“We ain’t a home for the lost boys,” he growls.
“Ain’t we?” she snaps.
With another groan, he rises, straightening his legs. “Fuck me,” he mutters. I watch as he turns around and walks away, running his fingers through his long hair.
“He’ll come around. He’s a big ‘ol teddy bear.” She giggles. “I’m Sosh.”
“Dylan,” I groan as I try to push myself up to a seated position.
She giggles again as she stands to her feet. The man makes his way back over to us and places his hands on his hips as he looks down at me.
“Well, can you stand?” he grunts.
Pushing up, I force myself to stand and almost whimper, but instead grind my teeth together as I attempt to make it to my feet. It takes me a few minutes of trying. He doesn’t help me, and I’m glad about that.
I need to do this on my own.
“Get your ass in the cage, I’m takin’ you to the clubhouse, Lost Boy,” he barks.
Sosh is sitting in the middle of the single cab pickup, smiling as she watches me limp my ass over to the passenger seat. Climbing inside feels like climbing a mountain, but I do it. I do it and my life is forever changed.
Barracuda and his Old Lady Shoshana save my life that day.
EIGHT YEARS AGO
PAMELA
TEN YEARS OLD
I watch as my daddy lifts his hand and pulls it down. My mom’s face shifts to the side. They always fight this way. It scared me when I was a baby. But I’m ten now, and I’ve seen them fight more times than I’ve seen them not.
Turning my head, I decide to focus on the television instead of them. They scream and yell at one another, their voices bouncing against the trailer walls, but I tune them out. I’ve gotten good at this.
Tilting my head to the side, I watch my favorite show, Baywatch. My daddy only bought the seasons that have her in them. My namesake. Pamela. She’s beautiful. My mom kind of looks like her, which is probably why my dad keeps her around, it’s definitely not because he likes her, not with the way they always scream at one another.
He calls my mom a lot of names to her face and when she’s not around, too. I don’t know what they all mean, but I know that they aren’t nice. He calls her a bitch, a cunt, and a whore. The only one that I know the meaning of is bitch. I could look up the others, but I don’t think I want to know.
I can kind of see why my dad calls her all of those names. My mom isn’t really nice, but I think he is part of the reason why she’s not. Him and the clear liquid she keeps in the freezer and drinks a lot of, plus the white stuff she always puts in her nose.
“You’re not taking my kid.” My mom’s shrill scream vibrates throughout the trailer. It breaks through my wall and I turn to look over at them.
I shouldn’t have looked.
My dad has his hands wrapped around her neck and he’s squeezing. Her arms and legs are kicking, her nails are scratching at his arms, but her eyes are focused on me. I watch as a tear escapes and rolls down her cheek as she watches me. I’ve never seen her look this way before, and I can’t look away.
She’s helpless.
He’s done this before, a few times, but never for this long, and she’s never looked at me so sad as he does it. My stomach twists at the sight as her face starts to turn colors, I’m not that smart, but I know enough to realize what’s happening.
When her arms and legs stop moving, he doesn’t drop her, he continues to keep his hands around her throat. She looks lifeless. I start to shiver at the sight.
Fear.
It’s something that I try not to feel very much. It does no good. You can’t change anything with it. All it does is make you feel bad on the inside. I try not to feel anything, actually. It’s better that way.
My dad takes a step back, and I watch as my mom’s body falls to the ground with a thud. He doesn’t even attempt to stop her fall, he also doesn’t look back at her. She’s nothing and he’s done with her. He turns and looks down at me. He’s wearing his usual scary sneer. He growls, but I don’t move. With a jerk of his chin, he starts to speak.
“Pack a backpack. You’re comin’ to the clubhouse with me,” he announces.
I don’t question him. There is no point. He’s angry and my mom isn’t going to get up to help me, at least not anytime soon. Last time he choked her until her eyes closed, she slept for at least thirty minutes. It was one full Baywatch episode before her eyes opened again.
I’m thinking with as long as he had his hands around her neck this time, she probably won’t ever wake up again, or if she does it’s going
