Dreamland City. Larina Lavergne

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СКАЧАТЬ me and nips gently, then more insistently at my mouth.

      “Shhh…quiet….” he says in between bites on my neck as my breath quickens and I let out a little yelp. I nod and push his head harder against me, and he shifts and flips me a little to my side. When I twist my head and look over, I freeze because Neil is awake, staring straight at me with his dead eyes. I stare back at him without saying a word, and I can see his nostrils flaring slightly.

      And then right at that moment, I hear the door of the trailer fly open. And like an avenging angel sent by God, Beau walks in.

      2

      Beau’s my Texan stepfather. Born and raised in El Paso before settling in North Carolina, he moved into our trailer when I was six or seven. Lord only knows why or how he and my mother decided to get married in the first place—they sure don’t act like it.

      I can smell the liquor in his breath from where I’m lying, and his gait is unsteady as he barrels toward us. I can only imagine how everything looks, with me lying on the couch with my blouse half unbuttoned and Tommy on top of me.

      Tommy jumps up as suddenly as a flash of lightning. I sit up as well and nimbly begin to button my blouse, inwardly embracing that delicious, addictive and oppressive moment of silence that surrounds us just before it teeters over into an explosion of rage.

      We’re falling over ourselves in that eternal moment. Tommy is grabbing his jacket and running out the door, pulling on his shirt over his head; Neil follows closely behind, stumbling over in Tommy’s wake. It might actually be funny watching them scramble like that, but I’m too busy scrambling myself: Beau is about to blow, and I don’t want to be close when that happens.

      I leap off the couch and dart past him, running into my mother’s bedroom and slamming the door shut, wedging the chair underneath. And there the moment breaks like a snow globe released from the top of a building hitting the ground beneath. Beau is throwing furniture and things around, yelling, all punctuated by the sound of glass breaking. He hollers for his shotgun.

      I sit in the middle of the bed. I hear the front door open again and close, and when I look through the window, I see that Beau is outside, his shoulders heaving as if he’s run a marathon. Then he turns around and comes back into the trailer. Before long, he’s at the bedroom door, rattling the doorknob.

      “Open the door, Lily,” he says. His voice is surprisingly calm and soft, his drawl like steaming hot soup before it burns your tongue.

      I don’t move from sitting cross-legged on the bed. Beau’s completely unpredictable, and the destruction will depend on how drunk he is. I don’t want to enrage him any further, but letting him in when he is this angry is a bad idea.

      “Go away,” I say instead, knowing he won’t listen. He rattles the door again, and begins pounding on the door. I’m afraid that he’ll put his shoulder to the door and break it, but he doesn’t.

      I look around and see that I left my backpack with all my stuff in here from the night before, which means I have my music in here with me. As Beau keeps on pounding on the door, I put in my ear buds and scroll through the playlist on my phone. After a minute, I finally find a couple of OK songs. I turn up the sound and tune out Beau’s ranting, and because I have nothing else to do, I start to do my homework.

      +++

      Hours must have passed; the sun is setting on my first day of the long weekend, and I have to turn on the light in the bedroom. It’s been quiet for a while now, and the only sounds are of pages being turned and the TV in the living room. Beau, tired of trying to get me out, has settled down and is now watching a football game.

      I hear a scratching sound on my window. It’s Skelly, standing outside smoking a cigarette. I unlatch the window and poke my head out.

      “What’s up, Skelly?” I ask, keeping my voice low, just in case.

      “You alright, girl?” he asks gruffly. He hands me the cigarette and I take a puff before handing it back. The smoke tastes like charred biscuits in the back of my throat.

      “Yeah, I’m OK.”

      “Tommy said to check up on ya since Beau’s on a rampage.”

      “I’m OK. I had to lock him out, but I think he’s calmed down some.” As I pronounce those words, I look involuntarily back at the door.

      “He’s no good when he’s drunk,” Skelly says disapprovingly. “I never saw what your mama saw in him.” He scratches his chin and pokes at a scab with his index finger. “What a fucking good fer nuthin’.” There’s an angry glint in his eyes.

      I shrug. “We’re none of us good people when we’re drunk, Skelly.”

      Skelly grunts, I think, in agreement.

      “Did Tommy go to work?” I ask, eager to change the subject.

      “Yeah, he’s headed out now but he wanted to make sure you were OK before he left. He’s gonna try and come back early so you kids can hang out.”

      I nod. “I’m fine.”

      “Well, juz giv’a holla if you need me.”

      “Thanks, Skelly.”

      I watch him limp away, tragically heroic, then I shut the window before going back to my homework.

      +++

      I finally put my pen down, done with my homework. I’m hoping that Beau has calmed down now because I am starving and craving Nutella. I take out my ear buds and poke my head out tentatively. It’s eerily calm, with only the remnants of a broken side table and a jumble of broken dirty dishes pushed aside into a pile. Beau is lying on the couch—the same one that Tommy and I were on a few hours ago—and he is passed out, with one arm flung over his face and his mouth half-open as he snores contentedly. I inch closer, careful to tread lightly, hoping I can get to the kitchen and back into the bedroom without waking him up. As I walk past the couch, however, his eyes fly open and I freeze.

      “You slut,” he growls out. I’m rigid and ready to bolt, but he doesn’t move from the couch. When he doesn’t say anything else, I carefully continue my trek into the kitchen.

      “Whore,” he bites out after a pause, and I can see he’s getting angry again. “Is this what that fancy school is teaching ya? Spread your legs for a useless piece of shit?”

      “I’m sorry, Beau,” I say, putting on my best remorseful voice to calm him down.

      “What’s so good about Skelly’s kid, anyway?”

      “Tommy’s my friend.”

      “He’s a damned loser, just like his cripple daddy and his pig brother.”

      I don’t answer and concentrate on spreading the Nutella on the slices of bread with clean, even strokes.

      “So what’s so great about him?”

      All of a sudden, the fight has gone out of his voice, and he sounds defeated, sad and almost about to cry. He sighs heavily, his eyes fixated on the coffee table, and I feel sorry for him. He shifts his position on the couch, and his cowboy hat falls off the side СКАЧАТЬ