Page 29 of CurVy Forever
He drives us, in a sleek, black BMW, around the long, night darkened streets with the only movement outside leaves blowing and dusting the way.
We drive in heavy silence.
At the shops, I rush inside and grab supplies. I haven’t actually started bleeding yet, but I will.
Soon.
On the way back, he takes different streets, and the tranquil dark seems to melt as we enter a higher-density area; streetlamps and porch lights filter through, creating a seedy energy. A gust of wind howls across the bonnet.
I blink at the unfamiliar area. “Where are we?”
“Our parents died in a car crash, and I was the only one who mourned them,” he states, staring at the road. “My brothers were too young. It was a lonely time for me. I was being trained to take over from that moment. Barely seven and I was offered whiskey and a cigar by the corporation while they bought custody rights from our grandparents who were ‘done raising children.’ They thought this was an opportunity for us. We had the best of everything. Nannies. Tutors. The corporation kept us close. We had it all… except a real family, a mother, father, mealtimes, Christmas, all a thing of the past. My brothers were too young to miss something they didn’t remember. I mourned the loss of our family in isolation.”
I blink at him, wanting to bury the mild sympathy I feel but also eager to hear about Tyler and his upbringing. So I don’t speak and let Dexter talk.
“I took over the company at a young age, drank too much and wasted money. Made stupid deals that ended in lawsuits. And twice, prison time. I trusted the wrong people. The money and power intoxicated me. I have an addictive personality, as I said to you. That wasn’t a lie.”
He pulls over and puts the car into park beside a block of flats. I squint at the red-brick, the rusty white fencing, and try to figure out where I’ve seen this place before…
Then it hits me.
This is where she lives.
I seethe. “Oh my God.”
“Don’t talk. I’m taking a chance being here. But I wanted to show you.” Without looking, he points to the other side of the road—an old tavern set into a motel. The lights are on inside even though it’s nearly three a.m. “It’s a good place to disappear. I can drink all night, and no one bothers me. No one recognises me. And these people, so simple, so fucked up, they make me feel normal. And a woman. An easy woman who met me every night. She sucked me off in the booth. Swallowed. Cleaned me up. And I treated her like shit. She never spoke to me. She never asked for more. Or had questions. Just took my cock, fifty bucks, some free drinks, and left me the hell alone.”
I look back at him. He grips the wheel, squeezing the leather as though he would rather shatter it than go on.
But he does. “I left one night, well, early morning, and I tripped on a rock. I hit my head. I remember waking up a few times. Once, when someone stole my wallet. Another time, when someone took my shoes. And once, when someone pissed on me. I couldn’t move. Too drunk.” He tightens his jaw and inhales what looks like a calming breath. “Then, a little girl sat next to me. She had dirty socks and a tatty polka-dot dress. She had split fingernails. I only noticed because they were wrapped around a bottle of water. She was holding it out for me to take.”
Tears pool in my eyes. I wipe them away as they begin to collect in my lashes. This is not what I expected to hear.
“I took the water. Stood up. And stumbled off. I left without saying a word to her.”
He stares into the distance, self-loathing a cloud misting his path. “It took me three days to remember what happened. To remember her. In flashes, really. I came looking for her. I found her easily. She was sitting on that step.”
He points to the step. The same step I saw in photos that day in the courtroom.
“She was in the same socks, same dress, and her hair was matted. I sat in my 235k BMW across from her and drank my three-hundred-dollar whiskey straight from the bottle. I drank as she skipped stones, as she swung her feet and swayed to a tune clearly in her head, and it reminded me of Ty. Then I saw her mother approach. The woman who gets drunk with me and never says a word. The one that I pay fifty bucks to suck my cock. I pull that note out of thousands in my wallet. I only give her one. I hated her in that moment. I hated myself; I could have given her more. I could have helped that girl, but I wanted nothing to do with anyone. Let alone a single mother.”
He fists the wheel with one hand, puts the car into drive with the other, and starts down the street.
The wind rushes past the road ahead as I try to accept all this information and truth.
Clearing his throat, he continues darkly. “I stopped going inside the bar after that. Instead, I would pull the car over and park in that spot, drink, and watch her. For a week. She sat alone on that step, only changing clothes once in that time, but always had the same dirty socks. She waited for her alcoholic mum and the small wads of cash brought back from the bar. And one night, I was particularly messy and… One fucking moment, I just— I just took her.”
My eyes widen as he admits it.
As he condemns himself.
He inhales sharply and turns down his driveway. “I told her to get in my car, and she did. I hated her mother even more when she didn’t object. I drove her to a hotel and bought her new clothes from a lobby outlet—Burberry Kids. I ordered her room service. I knew I’d fucked up, but it still didn’t stop me. I ran her a bath, and I faced the opposite direction. She didn’t talk either, just like her mum. Not a word. I could hear her slapping her hands, and peered back once to check what she was doing. And in that moment”—he smiles at the memory in his mind— “I thought it was worth it. Her hair is actually gold. Not brown. She was clapping, shooting bubbles into the air, and I thought it was worth it, but then the police kicked the door down, and that is that.”
I can’t breathe, let alone say anything, wholly enraptured in his painful story where there is no villain, and no one is saved either.
He parks the car beside his house and turns in his seat to look at me, eyes blank and motionless. “I kidnapped her.”
All of a sudden, the hate and disgust I felt for him fizzles away. The look of regret in his eyes, his open bleeding heart.