Restore Me

Copyright © 2013 J. L. Mac

Smashwords Edition 2013

***

Copyright © 2013 J.
L. Mac

Smashwords Edition 2013

All rights reserved. No part of this book may
be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including Internet
usage, without written permission of the author.

Cover design by:

Wicked By Design Robin Harper

Edited by:

Erin Roth |
Wise Owl
Editing
(http://www.facebook.com/erinrotheditor?fref=ts)

Formatted by:

Angela McLaurin |
Fictional formats
(http://www.facebook.com/pages/Fictional-formats/578230928856597?fref=ts)

Images copyright Sergios & Guryanov
Andrey, 2012

Used under license from Shutterstock |
www.shutterstock.com

***

To
those who said I couldn’t.

***

“Just shut the fuck
up, boy! I don’t want to hear a damn thing from you. You’re just as
dumb and useless as your whore mother! It’s no wonder she didn’t
want a damn thing to do with you. The bitch must’ve been psychic
along with being a dirty slut! She had to know how stupid and
worthless you were going to be; that’s why she went and dumped you
off on me! If it weren’t for your pain in the ass grandmother, I
would’ve gotten rid of you the minute your bitch mother shoved you
off on me!”

I should be used to it, but it always makes me
flinch when he says those things to me. I hate it. I prefer his
fists over the verbal assault. I think I heal from the physical
stuff a lot faster than the awful shit he says. I don’t get how
someone could hate their kid so much. It’s like I never had a
chance. He hated me from the minute I was born and seventeen years
hasn’t changed anything. If anything, he may hate me a little more
now. He’s drunk and mean as hell. What’s worse is that he thinks
it’s perfectly fine to drive when he is wasted. It scares the shit
out of me.

“Dad, I just think I should drive, you know, in
case the cops pull us over or something. They’ll smell the
whiskey.”

He knows I couldn’t care less about him getting
in trouble. He knows I’m scared; he always knows when I’m scared.
He knows and he likes it.

“What the hell do you know about anything,
dumbass? Just shut your mouth and sit there. If it weren’t for you,
I’d still be at the house. You just had to screw up my day
huh?”

“I didn’t mean to. My ride bailed on me. I’m
sorry.” He couldn’t possibly know how sorry I am. I would rather be
riding around in Erik’s car right now, but he finally got a date
with Ashley Wilcox and I told him to go ahead. I’m not a dick to my
friends.

“Yeah, you’re right about that. You are sorry.
Maybe you should apologize.”

I look out the window so he can’t see me cringe
at his insult. I
hate
this shit! I’m seventeen going on
eighteen—I’ll be an adult soon! He should treat me with more
respect. He should treat me like an adult. I hate this asshole;
yet, I would do anything to please him. I’ve tried everything to
make him happy. Even though he’s a terrible, mean drunken asshole,
I still have a strange desire to please him. It drives me insane
that somehow I still want to make my dad proud. I still want him to
love me. It’s a wasted effort. He’ll never love me, but I try. I
may always try…

“I apologize, Dad, but please! Just pull over
and let me drive home.”
Please pull over
.

“Hell no! I’m not drunk, and even if I was, I
still drive better than your seventeen-year-old ass. Tell me to
pull over again and I will, but it will be to kick your snot-nosed
ass up and down this road! You ain’t drivin’ my car, Damon, so
fuckin’ forget about it!”

Of course not. Stupid.
I shift in my seat
and tug my lap belt a little tighter. He doesn’t seem to notice and
I’m thankful for it. I don’t need more shit about how I’m such a
“sissy-boy.”

“Dad, you’re drunk! Please, just—”

His cold eyes land on me and I flinch. I thought
for a second he was going to land a punch right here in the car as
we swerve down the road. He doesn’t hit me, though. Just pins me to
the seat with the hateful glare that always rips me apart. I don’t
think I’ve seen him look at me with love ever. Ever. Not once has
he looked at me like a normal dad does. It makes me hate him and
hate my mom, whoever she is. I hate her maybe even more than I hate
him. She didn’t want me, so she handed me over to him. She made me
live this way. I wish both of them were dead. Who knows? Maybe she
already is.

“Hush, boy, or I’ll make you shut the hell up
like your lying whore mother!”

“Dad! C’mon! You’re all over the road! Pull
over. Please!” He’s scaring the shit out of me now. We’re going to
be wrapped around a utility pole if he doesn’t stop. I have to stop
him. He raises his hand up, straight as a board, and rears back to
slap the piss out of me like he’s done so many times.

“I need to teach you a lesson in obedience, you
worthless little asshole!”

I turn my head to brace for the blow. My eyes
catch a glimpse of something. Oh shit! I reach for the wheel. “Dad!
Watch out!”

The impact is deafening. Glass breaks, metal
grinds, rubber squeals against the pavement, and smoke billows. I
lurch forward, but thankfully the belt jerked tight across my
chest, pinning me to the seat. I look up and try to see through the
smoke drifting over the hood of the car. I’m too late. I’m too late
and this is completely my fault. We have hit another car. Head on.
Dad’s old, heavy, four-door Caprice Classic has smashed right into
a miniscule economy car. I should’ve walked home or called for
another ride. I should’ve taken the beating for forcing him to pull
over. I should’ve been a man not the sissy-boy that I am.
Fuck!
I unclip my belt with shaky hands then reach across
and unbuckle dad. The sorry bastard looks scared.
What the
hell?

“Listen to me, boy. You were driving.
Understand?”

What? He wants me to take the blame for the
wreck? “Dad, I—”

He leans over to me and his breath is strong. It
smells like an open bottle of booze. “You. Were. Driving. Say
something different, and see what happens, sissy-boy. Just try it!”
Spit flies from his mouth and spews onto my cheek, making me
flinch.

I don’t say anything. I wrench my jaw from his
hand and forcefully shoulder out of my side of the car. I run to
the other car.

“Oh, Jesus! Oh, God!” My voice sounds far
off.

I’m frozen for a moment. I can’t move. The front
of the car is now in the middle of the car. It looks like an
accordion.
Fuck!
Blood is splattered all over the glass. I’m
scared. I don’t want to go over there; I can’t go over there. I run
my hands through my hair. Dad makes his way from our car. It looks
like he isn’t hurt at all. I’m not hurt either. The car in front of
me is crumpled and there’s blood on the glass. It’s clear that
someone
is hurt.

“Please!”

Someone is alive in there! I push past the fear
and hurry to the car. From what little I can see through the broken
window, the two people in the front seat are gone. There’s so much
blood. “Oh, God. Oh, God. I’m so sorry. Oh, God.” I can’t stop
talking, like it’s going to help or something.

“Please, help me!”

I can see her easily through the busted window;
a little girl, stuck behind the driver’s seat. She’s younger than
me, with dark hair and huge, scared eyes. With my heart pumping out
of control, I muster all my strength and pull the mangled back
passenger door open so hard that I nearly fall back on my ass.
Normally, I’d be mortified. Today, I couldn’t care less. I don’t
care about anything except getting these people help. “I’ve got
you, I’m coming. C’mon. Dad, get them out of the front. GO!”

The crash has shoved everything back. The hood
of the car is now where the dashboard should be, and both of the
front seats have been sandwiched in the middle. I have to get her
out. I peek over at the front passenger seat and wish I hadn’t. The
woman must be her mother. She has blood pouring from where her left
eye should be. I can’t see it, though. There’s just blood; her hair
is matted with it. She isn’t moving. I don’t know if she’s
breathing, but I learned how to check someone’s pulse in Phys. Ed.,
so I stretch across the girl and hold my fingers beside her watch
like I learned. It could be my racing heart and shaky hands, but I
can’t feel anything. Nothing. I have to get this girl out. I
carefully get a grip on her, figuring the quicker, the better. Her
leg looks bad and this is going to hurt, but she needs help. I jerk
her from the car with one hard tug and cradle her in my arms. Oh,
shit. I feel queasy. I get one look at the bone peeking through her
skin and nearly hurl. Oh shit. That looks like it hurts.
This is
my doing.