ROUTE 66
Short story for Creative Writing Class. 2000 words. Feb. 2018
TW/ Trigger Warning: sexual assault
“Father, forgive me for I have sinned.”
“We all do, my child. Repent for your sins and you will be forgiven,” the shadow said. A thin paper shade stood between Alice and Father James, only a forearm’s length away from each other. She could see his figure and knew his voice, but yet the wall between was supposed to create some illusion of privacy. Perhaps it had something to do with not having to look someone in the eye. Perhaps it was the illusion that you are different from your sins.
“I have had some sinful thoughts, Father.”
***
Her shorts were a little too small, and the rounding of her ass started to peak out. A sweaty black tank top clung to her skin as the heat sweltered around them. Her mother’s nice cross necklace twirled between her fingers, a common habit of hers, as she propped her weathered blue cowboy boots on his dashboard.
They’d sleep in the bay of the truck, amidst their luggage. They had a ratty comforter and a couple of pillows. It was nice sometimes when the stars were out. Alice once saw a shooting star. They had a tarp to cover their things if it rained and if it was too harsh, they’d spend the night cramped in the front seats.
Tonight, Alice sat there in her light blue cotton underwear, perched on his stomach. Her thighs bracketed his sides as they shared a cheap cigarette. The smoke created the conversation between them. He grabbed her ass with a playful grip, but she was too tired to enjoy anything. She obliged regardless, going through the motions until her jaw was sore and her knees were throbbing. She cuddled into his side, his arm loosely thrown around her. She knew he loved her and the thought made her tighten her arms around his torso, even if he didn’t do the same.
His beard was rough and scratchy against her cheek and she wondered the last time he had shaved. Was it back in Sacramento when they stopped at the cheap inn? Or was it the trucker's stop where they managed to get cold showers and she slept alone while he got drunk with a group of burly men? She had slept in the front seat that night; the door was locked and she had kept his key. She didn’t trust him any more than she trusted those strangers when he had a drink in him.
She could only drive the rusty old truck when he had too much to drink. He’d start swerving on the road and then slur out:
“Alice baby, I’m really tired. Do you mind?”
And she would happily agree. Nothing felt better than the open road and the wind against her face. He’d pass out immediately and she’d drive, drive, drive. No real destination. Sometimes just in circles. Driving just to drive.
One time, he was so drunk that he was still passed out in the passenger’s seat when Alice’s eyes started to droop. So, she parked her car outside a LaQuinta and bought herself a nice hotel room—a splurge for her troubles. She took a nice hot bath and had some bubbly wine. She even rented a movie on the television.
And when he got pissed the next day about a huge lack of money, she blamed it on his drunken gambling and he was never the wiser.
He used to chew, but once Alice started riding around with him, her one stipulation was to cut out the tobacco. He started smoking more, but at least she could pretend he was James Dean when he smoked, blowing the cigarette smoke out the cracked window. She had a couple scars on her legs from where he accidentally ashed a cigarette or two on her, but she never told him. It happened usually when he was drunk, too gone to realize the burnt remains were falling onto his lover. She’d never tell him. She told him once and he had gone into a funk for two weeks, his dirt brown eyes full of tears. He cried and cried, spitting some shit about how he’s just like his father. The sex was nice those two weeks, her body being worshipped under the careful touch of her lover. But then he’d forget, or joke about it, and everything went back to how it was.
They didn’t know where they were going, but they knew where they had been. They hustled money from drunkards at bars and Alice had this one shirt he always made her wear that showed off her breasts just right—it often upped their chances of winning. Sometimes, he’d do an odd job for a weekend, moving someone into a house or mowing some lawns. He tried to get Alice into stripping and her only response was for him to “fuck himself raw with a cactus” and that was the end of that idea.
Those weekends were Alice’s favorite for she had all that time to herself. She’d read a book or paint her nails with a cheap, shoplifted color. Books were what she missed most about home—she had a massive bookcase just littered with every subject you could think of. Pays to have teachers for parents, she guessed.
She thought about them sometimes, especially on nights like this, when the cool summer air is just a little too cold in the desert. She misses her mother’s hugs, seeking the same comfort in her lover but he never held her right. Her dad’s laugh echoed in her memories, sometimes triggered by her lover’s raspy laugh, though her dad’s was so much sweeter.
She hated growing up and having her parents involved in her schooling, having them know about all the drama and know exactly who she would have problems with. She hated that people treated her a bit differently because they were scared to get in trouble with her. She never had friends over because no one wanted to hang out with some teacher’s daughter. The “What did you do today?” conversations at dinner went a little differently. She could never slack off in school and always had to do her best otherwise she’d get a scolding. She hated it all when she was in school.
Now, nothing sounds sweeter.
She wakes in a cold sweat sometimes, her lover shaking her awake. It’s one of the only times he’s incredibly tender to her. He’ll smooth her hair and rock her in his tattooed arms. He sometimes hums a tune. He lets her sob as the visions of scorching fires and the smells of death and destruction fade into nothingness. He’ll hold her and point out the stars, telling her incorrect facts about each one, trying to remember what she taught him about each one. He tries though, and that’s what counts. Her eyes will be heavy and he’ll pull her to his chest as she falls back asleep. Their breathing will synchronize and she’ll be lured into dreams that hopefully won’t remind her of what she no longer has back home. If she tries hard enough, she can block out the ringing in her ears as she recalls the blood-curdling screams of pain and agony that haunt her dreams and memories.
She could never be mean to Casey. He had taken her in when she had absolutely nothing. He had seen her in clothing too large, sitting on the side of the road, and had stepped out of the kindness of his heart. Her pretty face could have helped, but Alice doesn’t like to dwell on that idea. He only asked where she came from--an orphanage--and where she wanted to go--anywhere--and that was it. She didn’t mean to fall in love with him, but she saw the broken and bent wings of an angel, and the rest was left in the dirt as they sped down the highway.
They had been on the road for a year, two months, and five days. Alice’s birthday was last week, but Casey didn’t know that. She was alone, lounging in the front seat of his beat-up Ford, waiting for him to come out. They were at a bar again. He had a couple of drinks, flirted with some girls whose accents were too thick and sweet, like molasses, and decided to shoot some pool with some guys in the joint. She hoped he didn’t waste all their money tonight. The radio was low, the soft crooning of a static-laced country singer mingled with the incessant chirping of the evening crickets. The windows were cracked and the AC was raising goosebumps on her legs. The beer that Casey had bought her was well past warm, resting in the cup holder on the console.
Her weathered boots were tapping against the door, beating out the rhythm of the faint song being sung by the radio. Casey stumbled out of the bar, shouting at whomever. His red and brown flannel was wrapped around his waist; his once-white tank top was soiled like a grease monkey. Alice sat up, her knees bumping her chin. His eyes were glassy. He banged on the locked door, cooing at her and begging her to open up to him.
Her arms wrapped around her knees.
He wouldn't let her drive tonight. Alice prayed to whatever god was above that the roads stayed clear. The open windows drowned out the radio, the volume now on loud. Alice stuck her hand out and tried to pretend that she was flying. Casey smoked a cigarette, forgetting the blow the smoke out the window like Alice had asked him to, but she knew better than to reprimand him in this state. His eyes were hard, trained on the road ahead of him, even though he was swerving.
Alice assumed that he lost hard.
Casey pushed on the brakes, pulling off into the dirt. Alice looked for a reason, but the road had been vacant with no stops for a couple of miles now.
“Y’know that sometimes life is jus’ a huge bitch,” Casey slurred, turning to face Alice, and she put the truck into park. She stayed silent as Casey faced the steering wheel. He seemed to calm for only a moment before aggressively slamming his fists into the steering wheel, screaming out any explicative that he could think of. Alice pressed her body against the door, the handle digging into her back. The horn blared every couple of punches. Alice’s knuckles were white where they grasped at the dashboard.
Casey looked up at her, anger and sadness swirled in his eyes. He took one look at the horror in Alice’s pale face and surged forward, smashing his lips into hers so hard that she could hear the knock of their teeth. Her shout of protest was lost between her lips as he grasped her face with both hands, gripping her with almost painful pressure. She kicked at him and he bracketed her legs with his thighs, rendering them useless against his much larger frame. He kissed down her neck and didn’t seem to hear her shouting. He grabbed her hands from hitting him and pinned them against the window, his nails digging into her skin. He tugged down her tank top and she could hear the hem rip and she knew that this was the way she would go.
She tried to tune out the clanging of his belt, the zipper, his panting. The dead look in his eye was the only thing that she couldn’t block out. The boy that had calmed her down, held her as she sobbed, and whispered sweet and caring nothings into her hair was gone, replaced by the animal that was attacking his prey. She couldn’t make out any words he was saying, insane mumbles under his breath turning into gibberish. The fear that riddled her body was replaced with pain and humiliation. Even though she had all her clothing on, she had never felt so naked in her whole life. She was screaming, tears stinging her eyes and cheeks. He let his left hand go, gripping her neck in hopes of silencing her. She choked on oxygen and wondered if this is how her parents went too. She grabbed for something, anything, within reach.
It was like a movie. Alice grabbed her bottle from earlier and brought it down with any force she could muster over the bastard's head. The glass rained down over her and his grip loosened. Blood dripped onto her partially bared chest. Casey slumped to the side, his words incoherent. She opened the door behind her, scrambled past him, and used all the adrenaline she had to kick him in the chest. He dangled halfway out of the truck and Alice slipped into the driver’s seat, scrabbling blindly for the keys he had left in the ignition, her hands slick with cold sweat. Casey grumbled, trying to get up but failing. If she were in a better situation, Alice would have laughed at the image of Casey, drunk off his ass, with his pants around his ankles and his dick completely out.
With a couple of tries, the engine lit up with a shutter and a shake. Tears blurred her vision and her breathing was erratic. She rammed a bare foot onto the gas pedal and the car jolted with a whine from its stationary spot. The inertia didn’t go easy on Casey, whipping him roughly against the side of the door. Her foot landed on the brake with the same force, tossing him forward like a rag doll. His groans of pain spurred her on and her hand reached for the gearshift, throwing it into reverse. She gripped the passenger seat as she looked behind her, reversing in such a fast and tight circle that the tires slipped on the dirt and left screeching black marks on the road. Casey started to slip out more and grabbed the side door handle for stability. He hoisted himself up, cursing loudly at Alice. She couldn’t hear him over the pumping of her blood. He managed to grab her arm, twisting it painfully as he tried to redirect the wheel. She screamed in agony as he gripped her hair with the other hand, trying to heave her off.
“You goddamn slut,” he was shouting and her ears were ringing. His breath was hot and sticky on her ear. The car spun her foot still on the gas, the wheel spinning haphazardly without guidance. He seized her neck again, thwarting her breathing. She grabbed his arm and bit into it as hard as he could, his hands releasing for a moment as he wailed. In a sluggish attempt, he socked her jaw, knocking her against the window and making her head throb.
She took one last look at him, the man she loved, before gripping the seatbelt as hard as she could and slamming on the brakes.
Casey looked like an angel as he passed through the front windshield. He landed with no grace, crumpling and breaking into a shell of a man. She stopped. Oxygen didn’t flood her lungs as she thought it would have. There was no feeling of relief or safety. With a grunt, Casey got up again, crawling onto his hands and knees. He spat out a mouthful of blood. He stood, to Alice’s disbelief, his face covered in cuts and gore.
“You fuckin’ cunt,” his words sloshed between blood and spit.
It lit Alice’s blood on fire. She buckled up this time and threw the idling truck into reverse, backing up several meters.
“You run, y’bitch,” he was stumbling forward, a mixture of pain, alcohol, and adrenaline coursing through his poor body.
Alice ground her teeth together. She slowly shifted the gear to drive and revved the engine once. The sudden look of fear on Casey’s face was completely worth the year of torture she had spent with him. She closed her eyes and slammed her foot on the gas, flying towards her ex-lover. She didn’t stop until she felt the bah-thud that she could only identify as his body passing until the wheels of his prized truck.
She was finally able to breathe, her chest heaving with manic laughter and solace. She thudded her head against the seat, smiling at the ceiling of the car. She looked in the rearview mirror for a moment, looking at the crumpled and bloodied body on the ground. She flipped down the visor, opening up the mirror to examine her swollen, purple eye and bleeding lip. She messed with her hair, combing through it with her fingers and setting it into place. She straightened out her shirt, slipped back on her boot, and zipped up her shorts. She stretched her neck and shoulders, settled into her seat, and pulled back onto the highway.
***
Alice got up from the pew, tucking her hair around her ear, showing off her yellowed black eye. Her lip was slowly healing, often cracking back open when she smiled. She felt lighter after the prayers that the priest had subscribed. The old man in question stumbled out of the confessional, age not being so kind to the man,
