Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 88119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
“That’s it,” I said, pointing at a small, brown house with peeling paint, a broken banister and jam-packed garbage cans. A shopping cart stood forgotten on the sidewalk in front of it. Someone had probably stolen it—or what people around here used to call it: borrowed for good.
Devon pulled up at the sidewalk, but we didn’t get out of the truck immediately. I stared at the shabby house that had once been my home. It felt strange to return. Last time I’d sent a letter to my mom at this address, it had been returned. My mother hadn’t stayed with a man for longer than two years for as long as I could remember.
I pushed the door open and got out. A dog barked in one of the neighbor’s houses. It sounded big and angry. Maybe it was the same mutt that had chased me on my way to school once.
“You okay?” Devon asked as he stopped beside me.
I nodded, though I wasn’t sure if it was true. I took a deep breath and walked toward the door. The front garden was missing patches of grass and a few heaps of dog poop littered the rest of it. I knocked at the door and looked around. It smelled of pee and exhaust. This was nothing like Devon’s home. He had a place he could truly call home.
“Do you think someone already knows we’re here?” Devon asked, shifting nervously on his feet, hands in his pockets.
I shook my head. “I don’t think so. Major probably thinks I don’t have the guts to return to this place, considering how much I hated it and Carl. But we still shouldn’t stay here for longer than absolutely necessary. We need to see if he has any information and then keep moving.”
I rang the bell but didn’t hear it echo inside the house. It was probably broken, which didn’t surprise me considering the state of the rest of the house. I hammered against the door, then paused to listen for any sign of life inside.
“Maybe he’s at work.”
I snorted. If Devon knew Carl like I did, he wouldn’t have said that. “No, he’s here,” I said. “He’s probably just in a drunk stupor. It takes a while for him to get out of that.”
Devon gave me an odd look, and I turned away, focusing on the peeling white paint of the door. I rammed my fist against it a few more times, feeling the wood vibrate on its hinges.
“Careful, or you’ll break the thing down,” Devon joked.
I stopped and turned to look around at the neighborhood once more. Nobody had come out of their house to see what caused the noise. No one was concerned by someone screaming and banging in the neighborhood. Domestic violence and screamed disputes happened here on a daily basis. Suddenly the door ripped open and a wave of sweat and alcohol washed over me. I remembered it well. A smell that was ripe with a life ruined, the scent of hopelessness.
Carl stood in the gap of the doorway. His eyes were bleary and his face unshaven, but at least he was dressed in what looked to be a clean tank top and jeans. I’d seen him worse. He squinted at me as he held on to the doorframe, probably to steady himself. He was drunk. Not a big surprise.
He blinked a few times and then seemed to really recognize me for the first time. “Tessa, that you?” The words had a slight slur to them but at least they were intelligible.
“Yes, it’s me. I need to talk to you, Carl,” I said.
Carl’s eyes flickered over to Devon, who stood so close to me that our arms were brushing.
Hearing my name from Carl’s mouth felt strange. When I’d lived with him and my mother, I’d only ever heard him shout it in contempt or anger. Now he sounded almost… happy to see me. Nearly nostalgic. Maybe the years of alcohol and loneliness had finally taken their toll.
Carl stepped back to give us room to enter, still gripping the door. He was unsteady on his legs but managed to keep his balance. “Come in.”
We walked in and Carl shut the door behind us. The tangy smell of beer was even worse now that fresh air supply from outside was cut off.
“How about I make some coffee?” I said. I wanted Carl as sober as possible when we had our talk.
“Sure,” Carl said. “Make yourselves at home. I’m going to wash up upstairs. Why don’t you go into the living room?” Gripping the banister, he walked up the stairs. He’d never been this civil to me.
A weight settled in my stomach as I stepped into the kitchen and turned the light on. The sink was filled with dishes, the remains of food crusted on them. The garbage was piled high in the trash bin ready to be taken outside, Everything was as I remembered it. The memory of my last day in this house flashed in my mind.