Page 1 of Needing His Touch
PROLOGUE
THREE WEEKS EARLIER
Carsynn
Today is the day. Today is the motherstinking day. It’s pathetic. No, I take that back.Iam pathetic. A whole lot naïve, too. I should have known things weren’t ever going to get better. They haven’t thus far, and now here I am, at the age of twenty-five, feeling as if I’m double the age I truly am. My body hurts, my heart aches, and my soul yearns for an easier way of living. I should have taken the scholarship and run. What person doesn’t take the opportunity given for zero dollars? Oh yeah, that would be me, and the reason for that is currently yelling in my face.
“You’re a piece of shit, Carysnn. I should have aborted you when the clinic gave me a choice.” Dear old mom is at again, as usual when Dad leaves to go on a three-day bender. There once was a time when I’d look at her and see so much of myself that I was happy. Lucky even to have her genes. Now I’m thankful I don’t have an addiction, and I know what it can destroy all too well. My mom is a shadow of herself. Her skin is paper thin, her hair is brittle, and I swear her teeth are starting to decay. We no longer look anything alike. Well, maybe there’s one thing we have in common—the bags beneath our eyes. Mine are from working doubles, whereas hers are from drug abuse. Two very different scenarios, but one I’m getting myself out of. If I’m going to work my fingers to the bone, I’m at least going to come home at night to a peaceful and happy home.
My dad, on the other hand, well, we look nothing alike, not at all. We’ve never been close, and now that I’m older, it’s even worse. I’m still unsure of how he’s able to maintain his job in order to pay for his penchant of alcohol. Probably because even alcoholics can function enough to get their next fix. All I know is I’m the one who pays the rent, power, water, and groceries. When I started working at the legal age of sixteen, all I thought wasyes, now I won’t go to bed hungry.I can take care of myself, save money to get out of this hellhole. The joke was on me. The money I worked for was taken away the second my mother got a whiff of cash. A never-ending saga in this house with four walls, a roof, and running water.
I remain silent. Mom is itching for a fight, ready to continue on her tirade, and I’ve learned that the less I say, the faster she’ll go away. Which is what she needs to do, soon. A lightbulb went off a few months ago, on one particular night when I came home after working a twelve-hour shift. Both of them were home, one womb donor and one sperm donor coming right up. They were sitting on the couch in front of the TV, Dad drunk on his beloved bottle of cheap rum, Mom much the same except she likes to take pills.
Everything became clear. The need to get out of here as fast as possible hit me. If I didn’t, I’d end up being exactly like them.
“Got nothing to say for yourself, do ya? Just standing there like the mute girl you are!” She sways on her feet, slurring her words and enunciating each in anger. I’m not exactly sure the reason why she’s always so angry and Dad's always the quiet one.
I shake my head. Mom can call me everything in the book. Tonight is the night. I’ve been scrimping and saving, working as much as possible without raising an alarm of where I am or what I’m doing. Talk about always being on edge, going so far as to barely sleep at night due to a whole different type of dread of what could possibly happen. It’s the fear of uncertainty, who they could let in through the apartment door if Mom owed money to a dealer, or what she was doing to make extra money on one of her particular bad benders. Tonight, though, tonight is the night. As soon as she’s passed out on the couch, I’m out of here. It’s time I put myself first.
There’s no saving people who don’t want to be saved.
Had that been the case, I’d have worked my fingers to the bone in order for that to happen.
Obviously, it’s not. They can figure out the bills on their own. I put my extra money in a different bank account, so neither of them are any the wiser. And they were both too blitzed out to realize my late shifts at the diner. On the rare occurrences they were still awake, I’d climb the fire escape and sneak into my bedroom of the small two-bedroom apartment.
“Useless. You’re useless, Carsynn.” She smears my name, yet I should be the one calling her those names. Especially after the car accident we were in when I was nearly six years old. Somehow, Mom came out unscathed yet addicted to pain medicine by what I know was faking an injury and smooth-talking her doctor. Meanwhile, it was my side of the vehicle that suffered most of the impact, literally and figuratively. Mom ran a red light, we were T-boned, and I sustained a fractured wrist, broken collarbone, and a concussion. The only thing that saved me from getting hurt worse was sitting in the backseat, always my first and only choice. The further away from my parents, the better off I am.
The slamming of the front door allows me to breathe. “God, if this is you watching out for me, thank you. Also, please give me ten minutes to get out of this place without her returning.” I look up at the water-stained ceiling with a smile on my face for the first time in, well, ever. I take a deep breath, unsure why since the air in the apartment is anything but fresh. This life of turmoil ends today.
I’ve got a solid game plan, a new place to live thousands of miles away from Virginia. I’ll be in New Hampshire in less than a day and far away from parents who think I’m nothing but an ATM machine.
What I don’t expect is becoming stranded on a desolate road and a gorgeous man stopping to save me on a cold snowy night.
CARSYNN
PRESENT DAY
“Order up, Cars,” Denny shortens my name. He’s my new employer at my job here in Plaine Hills, New Hampshire. Everything is new and exciting while also scary at the same time.
I wish I could say it’s been all hearts, fairies, and unicorns thus far. Well, it’s not. It’s been shit, shit, and more shit. Let me amend that. On the way here, it was like the saying ‘WhenI was a kid, I walked to school uphill both ways while it was snowing.’My phone tried to sabotage me; the cell phone provider I was hoping to use until I was an hour outside of Plaine Hills decided to take a massive dump. I had zero reception, was lost for a good hour, and I’m pretty sure I went around my ass to get to my elbow. After finally finding a small strip mall, I parked my car and locked everything I owned in my small vehicle. My stomach was full of lead, worrying about leaving everything I owned while I walked inside with my purse strapped across my chest, hand on the pocket even though it was zipped. Inside my small bag was the start of my new life: more cash than I wanted to travel alone with, breaking every cardinal rule in the book. Thankfully, the pre-paid semi-smart phone I have now works and is cheap. I don’t need a lot, no frills or thrills necessary. I’ve had more than my share of excitement to last me two lifetimes.
“Thanks.” I grab the plates from the warmer when the food comes out, not that they sit under the heat lamp very long. The morning rush had us all hustling. There wasn’t much time to pee, let alone think of anything except making sure each guest in my area had their drinks full, their food was hot, and then they were heading out the door after paying their bill. It wasn’t the relaxed feel it is now. Gone is the crowded diner, and in its place is a much more peaceful thrum. There’s no more loud clinking of silverware, no more voices carrying over one another, and finally, the television is on mute. The news is nothing short of depressing, droning on and on about the same thing over and over again. It’s not my idea of fun. It’s pure torture. As soon as the clock hit nine, I grabbed the remote to turn it off like I have been since I first landed this job.
“You got it,” Denny responds. He’s half-owner of The Sunshine Diner. His wife, Nikki, is the other half, and she runs this place like a well-oiled machine. Between Denny, Nikki, another waitress, Olive, and now myself, we’ve got it down to a science. Olive and I work the early mornings, Monday through Saturday. Sometimes, Nikki will come in to help or give one of us a day off in the middle of the week. Denny and his wife close down most days unless they ask if we want extra hours. I almost always take them if Olive doesn’t. I don’t need to make as much money as I used to, but having a nice nest egg as a cushion really helps.
I take my plate to my only table. Once he’s gone for the morning, I’ll be able to take a quick break.
“Here you go, Mr. McCoy.” I place the eggs benedict with two sides of bacon in front of my usual. On my first day an older gentleman in his late seventies struck up a conversation, talking about everything. Where I came from, why I left, what I’m up to. He managed to sneak his way into my heart, had me sitting down for a quick break, and I told him everything, dumping all my childhood and adulthood trauma on him.
“Girl, I told you more times than I can remember. Call me, Bernie. And sit down for a minute. I know Denny and Nikki owe you a break. Come chat with me a minute.” Mr. McCoy isn’t leaving much room for argument, and I’d drop down in the vinyl booth if it weren’t for my stomach growling.
“Alright, Bernie. Let me put my order in, grab the coffee pot for your refill, and I’ll take a seat.” Denny and Nikki offer one free meal on every shift. A perk I have no problem cashing in on. It’s one less meal to have to worry about, and I make sure it’s packed full of protein, vegetables, and carbs to hold me over until dinnertime. Is it healthy to only eat one real meal a day? Absolutely not. Do I like eating what I want, usually a platter of cheese, crackers, and fruit? Absolutely, but a girl dinner is a must after not having the choice for too many years to count. While yes, I could have cooked and kept a pantry full at my parents’ house, I did not and would not. The reason is they’d probably have sold the food for their next high or bottle of liquor.
“Don’t take too long. You look like you’re dead on your feet,” Mr. McCoy acknowledges. I must be limping or rubbing my lower back again. I was trying to hold off for a few more weeks, but sadly, I think this weekend’s agenda is going to consist of heading to the mall where I purchased my phone.
“You got it, and I’m okay.” I don’t stick around any longer. He’ll try and tell me to quit coming by the one day a week to help out, and that will make me cry. You see, as much as I’ve helped him, he’s helped me tenfold. The grandfather figure I’ve never had, a friend when I never really knew what a real one was. The friends I did have slowly disappeared when all I did was work my life away, and let’s face it, my life was full of secrets. Especially when you’re trying to hide the fact that your parents are addicts and don’t care about you.
“Hey, Denny, I know it’s technically still early, but is there any way to get a deluxe club with hashbrowns?” I make it back through the maze of tables, picking up a few plates, cups, and trash. Olive and I have a system—I’ll clean up, and she’ll wipe down. It helps not make things too monotonous when we swap out days. My fingers are crossed behind my back, hoping that I’m not requesting too much. I’d prefer French fries, but beggars can’t be choosers.