Preppy: The Life & Death of Samuel Clearwater, Part One

  Preppy remained silent as he lifted a crab off the platter and set in on his plate. Then he made a show of lifting two very familiar fingers to his mouth to slowly suck the seasoning off, just like he had before. My panties dampened, instantly. I held back a groan and cleared my throat, turning my attentions back to my plate. “Are…are you hungry?” I asked shakily, trying to sound unaffected as my nipples pebbled through my shirt.

  As if on cue Preppy’s gaze dropped to my chest, lingering there, like he was admiring what he’d done to me.

  “I’m fucking starving.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  PREPPY

  PRESENT

  “There is one thing you haven’t thought of,” I said, sitting up as straight as I could.

  “Oh yeah, and what the fuck would that be?” Chop asked, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the wall with a shit eating grin on his face.

  “You’re a fucked up individual,” I said, pausing to adjust to the sharp pain in my ribs.

  “Is that it?” Chop asked, rolling his eyes.

  I shook my head. “No, you didn’t let me finish.” I pushed against the floor and slid my ass against the wall, bracing myself into the corner. “What you don’t seem to understand is that there ain’t nothing you can do to me that ain’t been done before. You’re an amateur. A fucking hack. You think threatening to have me ass-raped is going to break me?” I laughed. “Think again cocksucker, ’cause my stepdaddy already had that honor.”

  “All you’re doing is telling me that you’re white trash. Like I didn’t already know. Why don’t you shut the fuck up so you can die with a little fucking pride,” he said smugly. “Come to think of it, maybe I should call him up and invite him over for a visit? Wonder what he’s up to these days?” He was goading me, using what I’d told him to try and get a rise out of me.

  Think again, motherfucker.

  “He’s just peachy. Rotting in the swamp right where I left him,” I said without so much as a flinch, even though the pain shooting through my spine was crippling.

  Chops face momentarily fell. He pushed off the wall and knelt down beside me. “So you killed a man? So what? Should I be impressed? You think some story about your pathetic childhood is going to make me feel bad, and then what? You think I’m just going to let you go?”

  I shook my head or, at least, I think I did, all the muscles in my neck were numb at that point. “No, what you don’t seem to understand is that all this is pointless. You can have me ass-raped and it’s not going to break me. You can keep torturing me, but what you don’t get is that half that shit makes my dick hard. You can have me killed…” I leaned in closer and smiled. “But I’m already dead, bitch.”

  Chop reared back and kicked me in the ribs with his heavy steel-toed boot, sending me crashing into the wall beside me, my teeth chattering with the overwhelming pain ripping through my body.

  Either Chop left without saying a word or I passed out from the pain and didn’t get to hear his last thoughts on what a piece of shit I am. Regardless, when I opened my eyes I was grateful to find that once again I was alone.

  Except, of course, for the woman who wouldn’t tell me her name. I should’ve been happy to not be alone, but every word out of her mouth made me cringe and every time Chop left she had a comment.

  “You know, provoking him isn’t going to make things any easier on you. I’ve learned that lesson the hard way,” she said softly.

  “Hello?” I asked, and when she didn’t immediately answer I figured I was just hearing things, so I did what anyone losing their fucking minds would do and finished out the lyrics to the Lionel Richie song.

  “Hello? Is it me you’re looking for?” I sang out, grabbing my ribs as every word felt like I was stabbing myself in the gut, but the song needed to be sung or like a fairy would lose its wings or some shit.

  “I never did like that song,” the woman said again, and this time I was positive I wasn’t hearing things. Or like, close to positive. Like, forty percent.

  “Listen lady, I don’t know if you’re even real at this point but if you are real, then I’ll forgive your temporary lapse in judgment when it comes to the greatness that is Lionel Richie.”

  “Do you ever shut up?” she said, annoyed.

  “Yeah, I do this thing when I pass out where my mouth stops running,” I said.

  “No, actually it doesn’t. Yesterday you were commentating like you were an announcer over some sort of competition,” she huffed.

  “Probably American Ninja Warrior, always thought I’d be good at that.” I adjusted so it didn’t feel like I would crack my tailbone under my own weight. “Well, now that the pleasantries are out of the way, are you finally going to tell me your name?”

  “Names aren’t important,” she said.

  “Sure they are. My name is Samuel Clearwater, but my friends call me Preppy,” I said, although I was pretty sure I’d already introduced myself to this annoying bitch. “If you’re not going to tell me your name you can at least describe your tits to me. Bra and nipple size if you please.”

  There was a brief pause. “He’s not going to kill you, you know.”

  “That’s…disap­pointing?” I said, although it came out as a question. I didn’t want to die, but being tortured every single day wasn’t exactly on my bucket list either.

  “Chop believes in taking lives,” she said, stating the obvious.

  “I kind of got that. He been hitting you in the head?”

  “No, you don’t get it. There is more power in taking lives than there is in ending them. By keeping us alive and trapped down here like rats, he dictates how we live and if and when we die. And if a situation arises where he can use us, he’ll toss our gaunt bodies at the feet of whoever he’s trying to intimidate by showing them how much power he really has.”

  “That sounds like a lot of work.”

  “I think you had it wrong when you told him that you’re more fucked up than him,” she said with a sad sigh. “Pray. Meditate. Concentrate on what life was like before you came here, because Samuel,” she paused. “Because you’re never going to see that life again.”

  I didn’t argue with her. Not just because she’d been there for years and I thought arguing with her would be a waste of energy, but because somewhere deep inside I knew she was right.

  She went silent shortly after that, and I assumed she fell asleep in whatever hole she was placed in. Without a lot left to keep my mind from torture and death, I closed my eyes and used the simple meditation breathing technique that Mirna had taught me. I took a few deep breaths, well, as deep as I could without choking to death, and I tried to focus on what my life looked like before I was shot. I was happy-ish. I had family. I had respect. What I didn’t have. Was HER. Even when I pictured the cast of characters in my life, King, Doe, Bear, and Grace there was someone else standing further off in the distance, overshadowing the people standing right in front of me.

  She was overlooking the bay with her back to me. Her dark hair blowing around in the wind. She turned around to face me just as I got close, her dark eyes softening when she saw me, her smile tugging at the corners of her plump lips. When she spoke it made my heart beat faster and I drifted off into a state of semi-consciousness, surrounded by her words echoing in every corner of my brain over and over again on an endless loop of regret.

  Keep me.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  PREPPY

  When the doorbell rang I thought it was Billy, who was supposed to be dropping off some fresh blue crab before I headed out to see Dre. I wanted to take her mind off Mirna and what better way to do that than a nice homemade crab dinner, followed by my face between her legs, and my tongue deep inside her pussy, for an undetermined amount of time?

  When I opened the door, it wasn’t Billy. It wasn’t even a man. A woman stood on my porch, She had shoulder length bleach-blond hair and she smelled of hairspray. Her glossy lips were painted bright pink. She stared up a
t me with big golden eyes like she was waiting for me to say something. “You’re the one that knocked on my door, lady,” I said, wondering what the fuck was keeping Billy. The woman adjusted the short sleeved jacket of her white pant suite, gold bangle bracelets slid up and down on her wrist when she moved, clinking together loudly.

  When she didn’t say anything and continued to stare up at me, I raised the volume of my voice and spoke slowly, “Can I help you?” I wasn’t even sure if she’d blinked. I knew I was a sight to behold but god-fucking-damn lady, I had places to be. Over her shoulder was a shiny white Cadillac SUV. The front window was tinted dark so I couldn’t see anyone in it, but I could hear the engine running.

  The sunlight glinted off of the humungous rock on her left hand and I flinched when the beam of light shot me directly in the fucking eye. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, moving her hand behind her back. “And yes, yes you can help me. Although, the reason I’m here is because I didn’t help you.”

  “But let me guess, Jesus can help me?” I asked, leaning up against the door frame. “’Cause I gotta tell you, lady, that you should stop before you even start ’cause you’re waisting your time with me. It don’t matter what kind of god you’re selling today, I’m not buying it. I don’t need to go to church to know I’m a sinner and whatever god up there that might exist is fully aware of who I am and hasn’t struck me down just yet. So the way I see it, me and God have a good thing going and you know how that saying goes, don’t fix it, if it ain’t broken.”

  I went to close the door and call Billy to see when I could expect him, when the woman’s hand shot out and grabbed onto it before it could click shut. “Samuel! Wait!” she shouted, and that’s when the recognition slammed into me head first.

  It couldn’t be.

  But it was.

  I opened the door again, taking another look at the woman in front of me. “Mom?”

  “Yes, Samuel,” she said with a small smile. Happy I recognized her. “It’s me.”

  I’d been angry a time or two in my life. I’d been confused. I’d been hurt. But I’d never been more murderously irate than I was right then. I balled my fists. The heat of my sudden rage threatened to boil me alive. “Get the fuck off my property,” I hissed, taking a step out onto the porch. She had no choice but to drop down to the first step or be trampled. I glared down at her with all the hate that had been festering in my soul for years. “I thought you were dead.”

  “I’m not,” she said, her hands shaking.

  “Shame.”

  “I…I deserve that,” she said, glancing back at the SUV where an older man in a sport coat got out of the car and buttoned his jacket. “Mitch, it’s okay. We’re just talking,” she called out to him.

  “No, we’re not. Leave. NOW!” I demanded.

  “That’s my husband, Mitch,” my mom said, pointing back to the man.

  “You were always good at ignoring me,” I muttered, feeling the pressure build behind my eyes. If she didn’t take my warning, things were going to end badly for her.

  “Samuel, I’ll be quick. I promise. Two minutes, that’s all I want,” she said, raising her eyebrows and waiting for me to respond.

  “You have one minute.”

  She spoke quickly. “I came here because it’s part of my rehab. To make amends with those I’ve wronged and I’ve wronged you the most.”

  “No wonder I didn’t recognize you. You’re sober. Never seen that look on you before. And there is no need to make amends, there is only a need to get the fuck out. NOW.”

  She dropped down another step but still didn’t leave. “Four years now. Four years, I’ve been sober.”

  “Congratu­fuckinglations! Took you four fucking years to want to apologize for the shit mom you were?” I laughed and leaned over. “Apology not accepted.”

  “I didn’t know what to say to you four years ago.”

  “Oh, but you do now?” I asked. “This should be good. All right, let’s hear it,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest and waiving for her to continue.

  “I’m sorry, Samuel. I was an addict. Still am, ’cause it’s a sickness that never really goes away. I’ve made some bad choices and I hurt you. I’ll never forgive myself and I don’t expect you to either.”

  “You hurt me? You make it sound like you ran over my bicycle.”

  She took a deep breath, and I could tell she was trying to steady her nerves because her hands shook harder, along with her voice. “When I left I didn’t know where you were or where you went. I didn’t look for you. And for that, I’m sorry. I should have looked for you. I should have come back for you. I shouldn’t have left at all, but most of all, I shouldn’t have given up on you. I ignored you as if you weren’t there and I don’t expect you to want to have a relationship with me, but I thank you for letting me speak my peace. This is for you,” she said, taking a small piece of folded up paper from her pocket. She held it up for me to take and when I didn’t, she set it on the step by my feet and backed down the steps. When she reached the bottom, she turned around and her heel caught in the gravel. She fell sideways, catching the railing to right herself again. She straightened, adjusted her jacket, and was about to head back toward her awaiting car.

  Suddenly, rage wasn’t even a word. I was beyond rage. I was beyond anger. I was something that existed in another fucking realm and this bitch was not getting away with her half-assed apology.

  “Fuck that!” I said, leaping down the steps and stepping in front of her, cutting her off from the SUV. “If you’re going to apologize then you need to know what you should be apologizing for,” I said, feeling the fire flaring out of my nostrils as I spoke through gritted teeth. I could strangle her, shoot the motherfucker by the car, and burn them both in the fire pit in the backyard, and still be on time to make Dre dinner.

  Possibilities.

  “You don’t get to unburden your soul and walk the fuck away when I can’t ever have that same privilege because of you!” I yelled. “What the fuck do you think was going on while you were doing all that ignoring you’re so fucking good at, huh? You saw the bruises so I know that you know about the beatings, but what you don’t know is that while you were too busy forgetting you had a son, Tim didn’t forget. In fact, Tim was paying close attention to me. Very close.” I was right up in her face when I added, “He paid me so much attention that he knew how I like my dick jerked. He knew what made me come before I even knew.”

  “Noooo,” she said, her eyes going wide, she tried to take a step back, but I closed the distance between us again. There was no way I was going to let her back away from what I had to say.

  “So much attention that he knew how tight my asshole was,” I continued. She wrapped her arms around her stomach. “So much, that when he was too drunk to come, he blamed me then beat me until I passed out.”

  “That’s not possible,” she whispered, her hand covering her mouth.

  “It’s fucking possible and it fucking happened,” I spat. “Over and over again it happened, in the very next room, under the same fucking roof. It happened BECAUSE of you. Because you did nothing to stop it. Because you weren’t there or didn’t care. So you see, you didn’t just ignore me. You forgot you had a son and left me in the hands of a man who I’d wished forgot I was there.”

  She shook her head in disbelief, and either she really didn’t believe me or she was processing the cement truck I’d just dropped on her head. Either way, it was her head shaking from side to side that pushed me over the edge I’d been teetering on. My vision became a blur and I couldn’t see beyond the hatred that was either blinding me or making me see clearer than I ever had before. I pulled my gun from the front of my pants and pushed the barrel to her forehead. She dropped to her knees.

  “Son, wait!” the man in the blazer called out, jogging up to us. I cocked the gun and he stopped in his tracks.

  “Son?” I asked with a laugh. I looked down to my mother who was whimpering. “You might really want to rethi
nk your choice of words there, motherfucker. ’Cause Mama and me aren’t exactly having the friendliest of family reunions, so that word makes me a little twitchy.” I tapped the trigger to show him what I meant and Mitch stopped behind my mother, raising his arms in surrender.

  “Put your god damned hands down, man,” I spat. “I’m not robbing! I’m killing, don’t get it twisted.”

  “Please. No!” Mitch pled.

  “Fuck off,” I told Mitch. I looked down at the woman before me on her knees, her white pants dirtied by the driveway, and all I wanted was for her to feel what I felt. Live how I lived. “Maybe I’ll have one of my biker friends come over and fuck you in the ass in front of your husband,” I told her. “Rape you. Take what you don’t want to give. Fuck what you don’t want fucked, but unlike you, I won’t ignore it. I won’t turn my back on it. I’ll watch. I’ll cheer. And I’ll fucking rejoice when he splits you in two.”

  My piece of shit mother wailed and shook as one would naturally do when they know they’re about to meet their end. “Samuel, please…” she begged, her black eye makeup ran down her face and it seemed fitting that she was crying dirty tears.