Page 63 of Fight
“You probably know that nothing in this life is free,” I said.
“Not a single thing,” he said.
“So daddy number fifteen—it’s funny, but I can’t even remember his name. I remember his face, I remember how he destroyed my life, but I can’t remember his name. Must be some kind of defense mechanism or something—anyway, he started suggesting politely that there was a way that maybe she could make it up to him. He’d given her so much, shouldn’t she give him something in return?”
He grunted but didn’t speak, so I kept going. “It started small. Entertaining at a party or two here and there, but the next thing I knew she was escorting full-time. I guess she needed the drugs to cope. I don’t know for sure,” I said.
I’d never told anyone this story, doubted anyone had ever cared to know it, but telling him lifted a burden off my shoulders I hadn’t really been aware of. It didn’t change anything, but something about speaking the words, saying out loud how all this had come to be made me feel better.
“You never talked to her about why?” he asked.
“I try. But it never gets me anywhere. She lives in a fantasy world that I’ve never been able to break through. It’s like she knows how fucked up everything is but she won’t admit it. I don’t know if she’s doing it intentionally or if she just can’t help it. Maybe her brain is so far gone she doesn’t actually know when she’s not telling the truth or trying to minimize how bad things are. Either way, I can’t believe anything she says. It’s so frustrating, but I keep trying. Too stupid and stubborn to stop.”
“There’s nothing stupid about caring about family. It’s all we have,” he said.
“I used to believe that. I guess somewhere deep inside I still do, but this has to end at some point. I’ll have to let her go.”
Just weeks ago even thinking that would have filled me with panic. If I let her go, she’d be alone with no one to take care of her, no one to protect her from the world and herself. But after all that had happened, I knew things couldn’t go on as they had been. I’d gotten lucky before, but I couldn’t count on that happening again. And as much as it hurt to admit, I couldn’t protect her and survive.
“So that’s why you asked if I sold drugs?” he said a few minutes later.
“Yeah. They ruined my life. Ruined hers.”
He didn’t say anything about that directly, but instead asked, “So how did you come across Markov?”
“A gift from my mother. She called me one day frantic, said she was in trouble. That she needed money.”
“You’d gotten calls like that before?”
“Yeah. I wasn’t even worried. I took my time, scraped together a couple hundred bucks, and went to see her.”
“What happened?”
“She’d stolen from one of Markov’s men.”
“What did she steal?”
“Two grams of heroin,” I said.
“All this over two grams?” he asked.
“Why can’t the rest of them be as reasonable as you?”
“You say reasonable, but for him, it’s something like principle,” he said.
“I guess. Anyway, when I got there, her ‘client’ decided he would take me in lieu of payment. I expressed gentle disagreement with that suggestion.”
“What did you do, P?”
“As he was attempting to drag me out of her place, I got the upper hand and pushed him down a flight of stairs,” I said. I bit down on an inner smile. In some cracked way, that part of the story was funny, especially remembering the look on the fucker’s face as he’d careened down those rickety steps covered with God only knew what filth.
Too bad what came after wasn’t nearly so funny.
“Markov didn’t take too kindly to that. Said I owed him. Ten thousand for the heroin. Thirty for the insult.”
“That motherfucker.”
“My sentiments exactly, though he wasn’t too interested in my opinion on the matter,” I said.