Pulled Within Read online

  PULLED

  WITHIN

  MARNI MANN

  Booktrope Editions

  Seattle, WA 2014

  COPYRIGHT 2014 MARNI MANN

  This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.

  Attribution — You must attribute the work in the manner specified by the author or licensor (but not in any way that suggests that they endorse you or your use of the work).

  Noncommercial — You may not use this work for commercial purposes.

  No Derivative Works — You may not alter, transform, or build upon this work.

  Inquiries about additional permissions

  should be directed to: [email protected]

  Cover Design by Shari Ryan

  Edited by Steven Luna

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to similarly named places or to persons living or deceased is unintentional.

  PRINT ISBN 978-1-62015-368-0

  EPUB ISBN 978-1-62015-393-2

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2014915389

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  COVER

  TITLE PAGE

  COPYRIGHT PAGE

  DEDICATION

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  EPILOGUE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ALSO BY MARNI MANN

  MORE GREAT READS FROM BOOKTROPE

  To those of you who have scars, whether they cover your surface like Rae’s or are embedded under your skin, I want you to know you’re not alone.

  CHAPTER ONE

  DREW…THAT BITCH.

  After seeing her with her best friend Gianna tonight at the bar, I couldn’t get her off my mind. Pacing Brady’s bedroom wasn’t helping me forget the too-confident grin that spread across her face whenever our eyes met. Every time I blinked, the memory would rewind: She’d taken Saint, my ex-boyfriend, away from me. She’d won. I’d lost everything shortly after she’d arrived in Bar Harbor. The wounds were still fresh. I didn’t need her teal stare covering me in salt on top of it all.

  I wanted to complain about her to someone who’d complain with me; I wanted to be reminded that what she’d taken from me wasn’t such a big loss. I wanted to hear someone agree that she and Gianna should go back to Florida where they belonged. But there was no one to call. My best friend Brady was gone; he’d skipped town a month before, and I hadn’t heard from him since. Aside from him, there was only one other person I wanted to talk to.

  Darren, my brother.

  And, well…I couldn’t call him.

  Thirty-two days, I thought. Even with no Brady to lean on, I’d feel a little relief in thirty-two days.

  I left my phone on the dresser and crawled on to Brady’s bed. Before getting comfortable, I wiggled a bag of weed out of my back pocket. Two perfect little buds sat in the center of my hand. They were darker than the last batch I’d bought; the tips were whiter, danker—just how I liked it. It was only a dime; I couldn’t afford anything larger. And I hated to waste it in anger just because Drew had gotten to me…especially since I didn’t have a job and couldn’t afford to buy any more.

  Another reason I hated her.

  Had she not messed with Saint, one of the few guys I’d actually cared about, and Brady, who had become my family, there was a chance I would have liked her. She was nice enough…and unlike most people, she didn’t stare at the scar on my cheek. But there was no way I could show any softness toward someone who had stolen from me.

  I’d been robbed once before. That thief was fucking dead to me.

  Now, Drew was, too.

  Thirty-two days.

  I packed the small glass pipe with just enough for a few hits and popped the end in my mouth. My phone rang as the fire sprouted through the lighter. Who the hell would be calling me this late? Brady’s boys only sent text messages, and the last time I’d heard from my mom, she was working day shifts, so she’d be asleep at this hour.

  There wasn’t anyone else.

  I knew I probably had enough time to sneak in a quick hit before the call went to voicemail. But I was too curious to risk it. I rushed across the room and grabbed my phone from the dresser. I didn’t recognize the number.

  “Hello?”

  I walked back to the bed, waiting for someone to respond. I slid all the way to the far end, crossed my legs, and leaned against the wall with the bowl balanced on my thigh. My fingers tapped my knees and traced the white stitching that ran down the inside of my jeans.

  “Hello?” I repeated.

  “Rae…”

  My back jolted off the wall, and my eyes widened. His voice was hoarse and scratchy, but it was definitely him. “Brady? My god…where have you been?”

  “Rae…”

  “Say something. Say that you’re all right.”

  “Shit…Rae.”

  Brady had two voices: sober and wasted. I knew both so well. This was definitely his wasted tone. And he was on more than just booze… something else had been mixed in. Something a lot stronger than just weed. Whatever it was, he’d probably crushed and snorted it.

  “Shit what, Brady? Talk to me,” I demanded.

  “I’m…”

  I could picture him running his fingers through his shaggy, dirty blond hair, his lids half-open, looking from side to side to figure out where he was. It was normal for him to black out. But I couldn’t tell from his voice whether he was waking up out of his high or if he was actively in the middle of one.

  “Brady, you’ve been gone a whole month and no one has heard from you. You need to tell me where you are.”

  “I’m in…Bangor…I think?”

  “Bangor?” I slid to the end of the bed, my feet falling onto the filthy floor. I’d mopped it many times, but nothing helped get rid of the stickiness that had permanently sunk into the wood. Brady was no neat freak, and his mess only got worse when he started using again. This was the disaster he’d left me with. “What are you doing in Bangor, Brady?”

  Bangor was about forty-five minutes from Bar Harbor. I wondered how he’d gotten there. He’d left his truck here, at his apartment building, and had shut off his cell phone. Before he’d taken off, he told me he didn’t want to be found…but someone must have helped him. It wasn’t one of his boys from around here.

  “I’m in trouble.” It sounded like his lips were having a hard time keeping up with the words.

  “How much trouble?”

  “A lot.” He breath
ed loudly. “It’s bad. Really…fucking…bad.”

  I moved to the dresser and hid the bowl in one of the drawers. Something told me I wouldn’t be smoking tonight. “Tell me what to do.”

  “Come get me.”

  “Should I bring one of the guys?”

  “No. They can’t help me.” There was rustling in the background. Banging. A shout that didn’t come from Brady…or maybe it had. “Wake the fuck up.” His voice was so raspy; it was little more than a whisper. I wondered who he was talking to, and if they were as wasted as he was. “What’s the address here?” There was mumbling that I could barely make out. “Write this down,” he said finally.

  There wasn’t anything on his dresser to write with, so I sprinted over to the nightstand. Inside the drawer I found a box of cards. I grabbed a few, along with my broken eyeliner that rested on top. “I’m ready.” He gave me the address, and we hung up.

  With liner smeared all over my nails and my fingers smelling like bud, I threw on a jacket, grabbed my purse and went straight downstairs to my car. Since it was three in the morning, the ride to Bangor wouldn’t take long. There was nothing but blackness on the road. No other drivers, no sound. The occasional glimpse of a deer.

  Boredom.

  I blasted tunes to fill the stretching silence and counted the streetlights to keep my mind focused. When I got to one hundred, I started over again.

  I hoped I could get him out of whatever trouble he was in. I couldn’t lose him. I couldn’t get through the next thirty-two days without him. In the past, drugs had taken him to some dark places—not just with the law, or into a psychological hole with real lines of powder surrounding him. He’d had to deal with some disturbing people…the cocking of a gun was probably the most innocent of the noises I’d heard during those exchanges. Each time, I’d cleaned him up. I could do that again. It couldn’t really be as bad as he’d said it was.

  Or maybe it could.

  I’d help him either way.

  His directions took me to a duplex. I found him on the staircase outside, stretched across the second step. His neck was tilted and hung over the side; his body lay limp. He was missing a shoe and had no jacket on.

  My fingers shook as I turned the car off. My breath pounded against the inside of my throat before it released its vapor cloud. It wasn’t smoke that came from my mouth, but crisp November air.

  When I reached the steps, I stood frozen. Too afraid to wake him; too afraid to even touch him. I could taste the salt as it dripped onto my lips. Tears for my best friend…or what was left of him, anyway.

  The streetlamp showed dried blood caked across his mouth, and in the corners. Both eyes were black and swollen; his cheeks matched. His bare arms were marred with scratches, deep wounds that looked fully infected. His hands were crossed over his chest, gripping his T-shirt like he was using it to bear the ache—or take the edge off, at least. Nothing but more drugs could take away the incredible pain he had to be feeling.

  “It’s bad, isn’t it?”

  I jumped from the sound of his voice. It was even raspier in person than it had been on the phone, like his throat was coated in resin. “I thought you were sleeping.”

  “My eyes are swollen, not shut.”

  I squatted onto the bottom step and gently pulled his head onto my lap. My fingers slid through his greasy hair. It was the only part of him that wasn’t covered in blood. I didn’t know if the massage would make him feel better. I had to try something. I’d never seen him like this…not this messy or bruised. Not this broken. “Fuck, Brady. What the hell happened to you?”

  He slowly reached for my free hand and used it to pull himself up. He sat on the second step above me and leaned forward, his hands covering his forehead. Even through the hair and dirt and swelling, I could tell how much weight he’d lost in his face.

  He looked hollow.

  And he smelled like something wicked. The stench of pee came from his jeans, a huge wet spot circling his zipper. He also reeked of chemicals, of unwashed skin and something metallic, which I figured was the blood.

  He wobbled on the step, flinching each time his body rocked or his thumbs grazed his temple. It wasn’t a whimpering cry, like a wounded animal might make as it lay in the middle of the road. This was deep, guttural. Primal. He was more than just battered physically.

  He was crumbling mentally, too. Right in front of me.

  My heel slipped on the wood, and I stood to regain my balance. Brady responded so quickly. Before I could move, he’d clamped his arms around the back of my legs and pressed his cheek against my thigh. “No,” he cried. “You can’t leave me.”

  My shoulders melted and slouched from the sound of him. I tried to stop my own sobs from matching his. “I’m not going anywhere. I would never leave you.”

  He tilted his neck to look up at me. His hands tightened. His lids were so dark and swollen, I couldn’t see his pupils. But I knew he was staring at me; I could feel his gaze, and the tears that dripped off his chin soaked through my jeans. This was only the second time he’d ever cried in front of me.

  The first was the morning after I’d gotten my scar.

  “Help me,” he begged. “Help me, Rae…I hurt so fucking much.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  “RAE!” BRADY SCREAMED. “Raaaaaaae!”

  For the two hours we’d been back in Bar Harbor, he’d been shouting my name non-stop. He’d even yelled when he was in the shower while I was sitting just a foot away on the closed toilet seat. He was in agony.

  So was I.

  His muscles ached so badly that he couldn’t get comfortable in the bed. I’d covered him in a blanket when he shivered, but he’d just kicked it off. His skin throbbed too much. The fan didn’t help; beads of sweat formed and pooled across his body regardless of the air it blew on him. The only thing that would make this go away was more drugs…but they were the reason he felt like this in the first place.

  There was nothing I could do to help him.

  That didn’t mean I’d stop trying.

  With a bowl of ice and a wet washcloth, I crawled behind him in the bed. “I’m here,” I whispered as I placed the damp cloth over his forehead. We didn’t have any paper towels, so I wrapped the ice in a piece of toilet paper and ran the cold nugget down his arms. He was in one of his hot phases. I could smell the drugs seeping out of him. And the booze.

  And the vomit he’d gotten on himself since the shower.

  “Kill me.” He was tucked in a ball, his head resting on my lower thigh. His hands were just above his hair, wrapped around my leg, squeezing. There was dirt under his nails and cuts all over his knuckles, but they were still the same hands: kind and patient. Fingers that weren’t always wise with their decisions but had faced demons for years and had clawed their way through to survive. “Give me a fucking needle, a knife—anything. I just need to end this.”

  The toilet paper wasn’t holding up, so I used straight ice cubes on his skin. “You’re going to get through this, Brady.” I remembered when he’d said those same words to me.

  “No, Rae.” His body started shaking and still burned to the touch, even though he was freezing. “I can’t do this.”

  I’d said those words once, too.

  I leaned down to lend him some of my warmth, covering his neck with my arms. His hands released my thigh and reached up, grazing my chin on the way to my hair. A gasp shot through my lips. My body began to match his, tremors tormenting my whole shell. His fingers twisted into my strands and pulled them taught against his palms.

  It was too much.

  My eyes filled with tears, but I said nothing.

  “Shit, Rae, I’m so sorry.” He knew…he knew I couldn’t take it—anything but touching my cheeks or my hair. “I didn’t mean to. I forgot…”

  I wiggled out from under his hands and moved to the far corner of the room. I didn’t want to leave him, but I needed some kind of comfort, and the walls gave me that. They hugged me; held me. Supported me. So I
rocked between them, my arms clinging to my knees, bunched together as close to my chest as I could get them. My ass rolled back and forth, back and forth over the sticky, filthy floor.

  “Come back,” he begged. “Please…I need you. Rae, I fucking need you.”

  Back and forth.

  I covered my ears with my hands, my face tucked into the darkness. At some point, I’d wondered if I could handle Brady’s hands being there, tangled in my hair. Just his. No one else’s. Today had proved I couldn’t.

  Thirty-two days.

  “Please, Rae…pleeeeeeeassssse!”

  Back and forth.

  ***

  “Call my dad,” he yelled.

  I was in the bathroom, rinsing the bucket from his last round of puking. I held my breath, but the smell was still seeping in somehow. I was doing everything I could not to gag.

  “Do you want him to come over?” I asked as best I could.

  The physical withdrawal he was going through could last up to a week; we didn’t have that much time before we’d be kicked out of this apartment. The first eviction notice came just before Brady had taken off. The second had been delivered yesterday. We had seventy-two hours to pay two months of back rent, or we’d have to leave. I didn’t have the money. I knew Brady didn’t either.

  “I want him to come get me.”

  He didn’t want me to take care of him?

  I left the bathroom and sat on the bed. He was on his back, his knees bent, staring at the ceiling. I touched his arm, and his hand closed over my fingers. “I just want to help you.” My voice was so soft…so fragile. I almost didn’t recognize it.

  “I’ve hurt you,” he said, “and I’m just going to keep doing it. I need help, Rae…real help this time.” His teeth chattered. I covered him with the blanket, but he kicked it right off. Beads of sweat ran into his eyes. When I tried to dab the beads, he clenched down on my skin with his nails. “Call my dad…please.” His eyes rolled back into his head. Spit flew from his tongue and landed on his lips, strings of white goo stretching between them. “Tell him I need rehab.”