“I just need one hit.”
My teeth chatter as the cold blast of wind hits me, seeping right through my thin black hoodie. I send him a pleading gaze as I wrap my arms around myself and shift my weight from one foot to the other.
“That’s what ya said the other night.” He motions me away with his hand and starts to count the thick wad of bills in his hand again. “Get lost.”
“Please, man.”
He sighs. “You know my boss already has the juice running on you. Said he was gonna make a stop at your place soon.”
I suck in a breath. I know what that means, and what it could mean for Ava, but I just...can’t focus on that.
The only thing that matters is getting that hit. I only need one, so I can get my head together. Then I’ll be able to deal with the situation at hand. He needs to understand. “I can’t do anything when I feel like this.”
He stares at me for a long moment, surveying me with his dark brown eyes. I know he thinks I’m pathetic. I pulled this act on him a few days ago, and when he gave me a break I did the best I could to keep my head together but...I’m at my limit now. I need the drugs, before something really bad happens to me.
“This is the last time.” He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a hit of Heroin, slapping it into my hand with disgust. “Now get outta here.”
I don’t look back, I just run. Run and run as fast as I can back home, to my shit trailer. I throw open the door, glance at my seven year old daughter quickly as I sit down on my mattress. She’s fast asleep, one arm touching the ground, the other wrapped around her beloved doll. It’s ratty, falling apart, just like her clothes...just like this fucking place I’ve got us living.
She deserves better.
But I can’t think about that.
All I can do is heat my drugs with the lighter on their usual spoon and fill my syringe with the precious liquid, immediately plunging the tip of it into the best vein I can find in my arm. My eyes close as I feel the drugs pumping into my bloodstream, working their magic. It’s the most comfort I’ve felt in a week.
Everything is going to be fine now.
Just fine.
BAM BAM BAM.
I barely acknowledge it, blow it off as the wind and nothing more.
“Daddy?”
“It’s fine baby. Just the wind...go back to sleep.” I stroke her hair softly. My eyes close as the drugs begin to take over. They relax me, and I know that soon I’ll be lying on my back, slipping into that world where I have no problems or concerns at all.
“Police! Open the door!”
I don’t pay attention. I’ve slipped away, despite my daughters frightened cries for me to wake up. It’s like...I’m dreaming.
Everything is fine.
Ava screams. Then, hands grab me roughly, force me to my feet. A harsh voice blares in my ear, rambling off how I have a right to an attorney.
“DADDY DON’T LET THEM TAKE ME!”
I force myself to get it together. The magical world that the drugs created suddenly melts away and I’m slapped with reality. There are police officers everywhere, scouring my tiny trailer. One is behind me, slapping me in handcuffs, reading me my rights.
I’ve been through this before.
But not with Ava.
And when I finally realize that she’s here with me this time, I frantically scan the apartment for her, only spotting her when it’s too late. She’s in another officers arms, being carried out the door...
Out of my life.
“Ava!”
I’m shoved forward, out the door, back into the bitter cold of the night.
It’s only then I realize that she’s gone.
And as I’m pushed into the back of the squad car, I suddenly realize I have no clue how I’m supposed to get her back.
**************
I spent two years in prison.
During my stay, I was allowed to see my daughter once, through a plate glass window. It was too much for me to bear. She was sobbing, asking me why we couldn’t go home, and I just...couldn’t tell her why. I told them not to bring her around anymore, even though it nearly pushed me over the edge. I’d lost her, the one person in the world that I forced myself to live for. I had no rights, according to some. In the meantime, she was being bounced around from one foster home to another. When I could get in contact with her social worker, she would tell me where she was at, but those phone calls were few and far between. There were some months that I had no idea where my daughter was, or how she was being treated.
It kept me up night after night, and there was nothing I could do. Prison has this way of making you feel hopeless, like you’re nothing at all...a failure. But I was a failure, because I’d failed my daughter when she relied on me for everything and all I cared about was the heroin.
At times, I felt she was better off, but then...I knew that if I was sober, I would be a great father to her. There was a short time that I had been, before her mother left. Then she was gone, I started selling drugs to get us by...and then I went right back to using. It was my only vice, the only thing that eased the stress of being alone, and poor, with a hungry baby. I was so young then...a kid, that everybody had given up on.
I had my lawyer try to find her mother, even though I knew he wouldn’t. She was a hooker, had been gone for years, and I was certain she had no intention of ever coming back to reclaim her daughter. I called my mom for the first time in fuckin’ years. She wanted to help me, but her asshole of a husband wouldn’t hear of it. They'd gotten married some time ago, had their own lives, and according him, it didn't include me or my "baggage". That meant my Ava was alone in the world, and that was completely my fault. I knew better, should have been more careful, more focused on giving her a good life, but the drugs...they seemed to have a power over me all their own.
I was arrested that night in my apartment, charged with possession of a deadly narcotic and child neglect. They pinned me with intention to sell due to the quantity they found on me, even though I explained to them that I never shared my drugs with anybody. It was my second time being arrested for a major charge though, so it didn’t matter. The narcotics squad had it out for me, were determined to keep me in jail as long as they could, because I was a loser.
I was slammed with a felony and sentenced to two years in Folsom State Prison. The judge told me if I screwed up again I would never get out. That’s California for you, three strikes, you’re out. My public defender told me I’d gotten off easy, that I could have gotten five years. It didn’t matter though. Two years in prison meant my daughter would be swept deep into the system by the time I got out, and I knew I had to do everything in my power to educate myself about getting her back once the time came.
Once I was released though, nothing I learned seemed to matter. Getting a custody hearing was a long drawn out process, and until that time, I was only allowed monthly supervised visits with Ava, so long as I made it to my weekly probation meetings on time and kept down a steady job.
Nothing seemed to work in my favor. Finding a job was next to impossible. Nobody wanted to hire an ex-convict, and my probation officer was an asshole to top things off. My parental rights were suspended again when I couldn’t find work, blocking all access I had to Ava. Then...I completely lost it, went back to my old ways. Six months later I would find myself sprawled out on the floor of some scum bags apartment, nearly dead from an overdose of heroin.
I don’t know how I didn’t get arrested. I just got lucky. A helpful nurse recommended a good rehabilitation group to me while I was in the hospital, and I guess...I was so overwhelmed with depression I decided to try and help myself one last time before it was too late. It was one of the best choices I made, and if it wasn’t for my sponsor, Trace, I don’t know where I would be.
It took a year of therapy to get me where I am today. I have a hearing in a week. One that will determine if I can start seeing my daughter again. If today goes well, I might impress the judge. She doubts me. Thinks I’m a world class loser.
But I’m determined to prove her wrong.
“I talked you up really good.” Trace reaches out and straightens out my collar before flashing me a pathetic smile. “You should get this one, no problem.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s what you said before.”
He shrugs. “This time it’s family. My uncle owes me money and I told him I’d let it slide if he gave you the job.”
I live in his basement at the moment. His wife isn’t thrilled. They have a baby on the way, but Trace has reassured her time and time again that this is only temporary. That once I get some more money I’ll be able to afford a place all on my own. He’s been telling her that for almost a year, and sometimes, at night, I’ll hear them arguing about my presence in the house. I don’t blame her for being angry. She doesn’t want her child around somebody like me, and if I could, I’d move out now.
But I have no money and nowhere to go. Trace understands, because he was just like me once....addicted to drugs, and he almost lost everything before he was able to get himself the right help. He got his life together, went to night school and got his GED. Now he has a decent, steady job, a house, and a beautiful wife that he’s starting a family with. My goal, is to be just like him one day.
But first, I need to get this job. I have another one, washing dishes and bussing tables at a fancy restaurant in West Hollywood at night. It pays bare minimum, enough for me to eat so I don’t have to leech off of Trace as much, but my boss tells me if I keep at it, he might have me start serving water and pouring wine at tables soon. That would entitle me to a small portion of the waiters tips for the night, so I’m trying the best I can to show that I can do the work. My new probation officer got the job for me, after I was able to get switched from the one I hated. Gary is decent. He tries as hard as he’s supposed to, sometimes even more so. I’m thankful for him.
“Go ahead. I’ll wait here,” he tells me. “It shouldn’t take long.”
I just nod.
“Think about Ava.” He pats my shoulder. “It’ll help you relax.”
Then he walks away from me. The only thing left to do is walk into that building and sell myself to the best of my ability. I force myself to walk to the door, open it and step inside. I do the best I can to take Trace’s advice, think about my daughter, about what she might be doing right now. It’s been too long since I’ve seen her. I keep a picture of her in my wallet, but it’s so old. She turned ten this year, grew a ton since the last time we saw each other, and looks a lot different too. I pray that she still remembers the good parts of me if I get to see her again.
I have to see her again. I have to be able to be her father again.
“Name?”
I swallow hard, take off my ball cap and hold it at my waist. “Justin.”
The woman behind the desk finally looks up at me and sighs. “Last name?”
“Timberlake. I’m...I’m here about the job. I was supposed to talk to Bruce.”
She glances at me for a few more moments, before picking up the phone and dialing an extension. “Sir...a Justin Timberlake here to see you...” She trails off and listens, before nodding slightly, saying ‘yes’ and hanging up.
“Well?” I say it anxiously.
“He says the job’s been taken already.”
My mouth hangs open for a moment. “How? I mean...it can’t be...”
“That’s what the man said,” she grunts. “Have a good day.”
“But...”
“Do I need to call the police?”
I shake my head roughly. “No.”
I storm out, making sure to slam the door behind me. I know what it is. I’m sure Trace’s uncle was fine with hiring me, until a few people told him about the “repercussions” of hiring an ex felon.
Fuck. It’s the same thing every single time.
“That was fast.” Trace calls from the car. “How’d it go? When do you start?”
I slowly walk back towards the parked car. “I don’t.”
“What?” He laughs. “You’re kiddin’ me right?”
I shake my head, and pull the door open so I can plop down into the passenger seat. “No.”
“Fuckin...I’ll take care of it.”
“Don’t bother.” I say, pulling on his sleeve as he starts to get out of the car. “He doesn’t want me, and anything you say will get me a weeks worth of work before I get fired. Just...forget it. I’ll figure it out.”
“He promised me,” Trace grunts. “Just let me talk to him.”
“No.”
“Man, you have a hearing in a week. I know you have your pride and shit that you want to protect, but this is for everything. You need this if you want a shot at getting Ava back. That dishwashing job isn’t going to cut it with that judge.”
I just shrug. “I’ll talk to my boss at the restaurant. Maybe he’ll give me that promotion we’ve been talking about. At least then I can say that I’m a server.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“I’ll figure that out when the time comes. Now come on, get me out of here. I have to get to the restaurant by six thirty.”
He sighs heavily, but instead of protesting further, he just slams on the gas and peels out of the parking lot. On the way back to his place he keeps muttering that he’ll call his uncle and get the situation sorted out, but I barely pay attention. The truth is, I don’t want to work for somebody like that...somebody that never wanted to give me a chance from the beginning. There’s too much that can go wrong, and so...I’ll grovel at my boss’s feet tonight, tell him it’s important that I get a full time gig at his restaurant, and that if he does me that favor, I won’t let him down.
At least...I hope I won’t.
Story Notes:
I don't know, okay? I just don't know! Ahh I wish my brain would stop imagining things!
Author's Chapter Notes:
It just happened. I'm trying to stick to one thing but it's like...no you can't. So here it is...maybe youll like it, I hope you do!
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