Leaving Las Vegas:The Truth About Krystal

Leaving Las Vegas:The Truth About Krystal Leaving Las Vegas:The Truth About Krystal

Status: Finished

Genre: Fan Fiction

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Fan Fiction

Summary

My story is about a newly -wed couple who decide to start their life over in another state. They want to quit the life of drugs they were living and decide to start fresh together far from las vegas. However, the trip there turns into a series of bud luck and comical misadventure, trying to do the right thing isnt working like they thought. the story breaks up with flashbacks in the mind of our main female, who is struggling to face herself and "the truth" of what really happened, which is what she cant let go but will have face if she wants to get her life together.

Summary

My story is about a newly -wed couple who decide to start their life over in another state. They want to quit the life of drugs they were living and decide to start fresh together far from las vegas. However, the trip there turns into a series of bud luck and comical misadventure, trying to do the right thing isnt working like they thought. the story breaks up with flashbacks in the mind of our main female, who is struggling to face herself and "the truth" of what really happened, which is what she cant let go but will have face if she wants to get her life together.

Content

Submitted: November 28, 2011

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Content

Submitted: November 28, 2011

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PART 1

 

 

It was still early when I clocked out for my 30-minute break, but today I didn't mind. I grabbed my coat from the break room and hurried out the front door.

Skipping a meal and running home on my breaks was nothing new, and neither was the uneasy feeling that came with leaving my 3 children in the care of their father. Believe me when I say he was my last option, and from the time I walked out the door until I returned the uneasiness was always there. Being able to run home on my breaks and check on them actually helped relieve my stress, and never knowing exactly when I would show up seemed to be keeping him in line (so far).

Today, however, it was more than that, I

 

(last night was bad)

 

didn't know why.

 

Although I lived across the street (it was at most a 5-min.walk) I found myself fighting the urge to run. I almost hadn't even gone in, but I was still new and under a probationary period, I couldn't risk losing it. Even worse we had already been served an eviction notice, and the countdown was looming bigger and brighter in my head with every passing minute.

 

I reached my building(finally), and ran up the stairs two at a time. I stopped at my door and made myself take a deep breath of air, making myself appear as if nothing was wrong, as if

 

(he hadn't hurt me)

 

today was no different than any other day. I unlocked the door and stepped inside, expecting my oldest son to do what he always does, running in the room with arms extended, crying happily, “Mommy!”( This never failed to be the cutest thing to me) and, even cuter, my 2-year right behind him, copying his big brother exactly. I loved that, all my stress and worries would instantly be pushed to the back of my mind, I would pick them both up in a hug and give them kisses all over until they were laughing, then make my way to the baby's room to do the same with him.

 

Today, however, instead of the loud greeting, I saw Joshua tentatively stick his head out of his room to see who was coming in.

 

About a million alarms sound off in my mind; if he has to check who it is, where the FUCK is their father?

 

“Joshie, it's me. Where's daddy?”

 

Realizing it was me,the usual greeting commences, but that sick feeling came back with such force I thought for a second I might ACTUALLY throw-up.

 

“Josh, where is daddy?”I made myself kneel down to his level, I looked him in the eyes, and repeated the question.

 

He looked at me back, but did not answer. He did not know, of course, but at the moment I was too upset to encourage him to talk. He had always been like that, he had a way clamming up and refusing to say anything at all, especially if a situation was particularly stressful to him. Yeah, okay, so was kind of a sensitive kid, but what could I say? He got it from me.

 

 

I stood up and headed for the baby's room. There were SO many things wrong with this picture, and I had about 20 minutes to get back to work. The feeling of dread was replaced with a ball of mixed emotions: disbelief, anger, shock, ANGER, DISBELIEF, and more shock (for lack of a better word, I define shock here as too many questions that needed to be answered immediately, but would dramatically affect the future, all hitting me at the same time, and now having less then 15 minutes to figure it out). Yeah, I was definitely dazed for a couple of seconds.

 

Okay, first things first. I picked up the baby and began changing him. Thoughts racing, I methodically cleaned him up and changed his clothes.

 

There was no way in hell I could return to work unless he was back. Leaving the kids(ages 4, 2, and 4 months) by themselves!? What the fuck is WRONG with him! There was no way to know when or if he even planned on returning, and I sure as hell would not waste time trying to find him. This was too much, though,

 

(last night was bad)

 

but this was over. Would you believe me if I told you that I literally felt and heard the SNAP inside of me. That thought made me laugh out loud, but I cringed when I heard the hysteria in it.

 

And the most disturbing part, the part that dazed me just think to about, was the night before we had gotten into a fight because he wanted what I had saved to move, and no way was I going to give it up.

 

(You fight and you were right...)

 

In the end he got it anyway (there aren't very many hiding places in a small, barely furnished apartment) and while I fought to prevent him from taking it

 

(the begining of the end)

 

there was little else I could do. I was infuriated, but that didn't even come CLOSE to the way I felt at that moment, standing in the middle of the room, seeing not words or thoughts, only images, flashing like they it will right before you die, or maybe as you die, I don't remember which,

 

(not important, 10 minutes on the clock)

 

Josh was tugging at me sleeve now, saying “Mommy, take off your shoes!” (To him, taking off my shoes meant I wasn't going anywhere.) I didn't respond; his voice, this bullshit, I couldn't take it anymore,

 

(we're gonna crash, ladies and gentlemen)

 

I had no money AT ALL, I had an eviction notice that promised the sheriff would be at the apartment promptly at 7am Monday morning to lock us out, and if I did not return to work there would be no chance of any money at all. And the part I couldn't digest- he left my BABIES alone and I could not go anywhere unless there was someone to watch them.

 

My hands were tied and WHAT THE FUCK COULD I DO!? My head was starting to pound...

 

(my body still ached and and last night was bad, but FUCK this was worse)

 

It was too much, this was so bad.

 

I had run out of options, and the realization that it in spite of doing everything in power my to hold this together it was going to fall apart anyway overwhelmed me.

 

 

My back was up against the wall.

 

 

He had crossed the line so many times, and I took it so many times, but right then whatever had prevented me from leaving, and all the terror that consumed me on a daily basis, fucking making me too scared to try to pull a fast move and get out (come on, with three kids there was no way I could just leave without some planning and even harder too make it out with all three, he made sure of that), well, it was just gone. I remember that moment pretty vividly, like an actual switch was flipped. The sick feeling in my stomach and the need to throw-up subsided, and my eyes cleared.

 

I remember then feeling nothing, and not even caring.

 

Josh was still tugging on my sleeve and I looked down at him. He was always so beautiful.Then I turned and carried my baby-baby back to his crib, propped a bottle in his mouth, and walked back in the living room.

 

“Take off your shoes, mommy...”

 

I looked at him again,he staring at me with those big eyes...I couldn't do this, FUCK!

 

I opened the front door. “Mommy!” His voice was frantic now, “Mommy!” He started to cry, but didn't follow me. Jalen stood behind him in the bedroom doorway watching uncertainly, with his thumb in his mouth,

 

I took a deep breath, and stepped outside.

 

 

 

* * *

 

The slamming of brakes jerked me out of my reverie.

 

“Fuck! I hate that shit!” Not saying anything, I looked at my husband and hoped he didn't notice that I had been so caught up in my thoughts I didn't see what had happened. He gripped the steering wheel and leaned forward in his seat, switched lanes and began speeding up.

 

“Bobby...” I began and then stopped when he glanced at me crossly. Then his eyes went back to the road in front of him and he continued to speed up.

 

A giggle escaped my lips and I sad, “ He probably didn't cut you off on purpose.”

 

Another glance and then he swerved in front of a bright red semi. He let a little distance seperate them, then he tapped his brakes. He had allowed enough room to prevent an accident, but was close enough to cause the driver of the semi to have to brake, and the blaring of the horn said he made his point.

 

Bobby and I looked at each other, then started laughing. Thinking that was the end of it, Bobby dived into a story in which he had a similar situation. He had a way telling stories that always made me laugh, and this was no exception. I was glad he was in a good mood, because the road ahead was a long one, and I knew from personal experience that moving to a new place could be trying for someone was not used to it or did not know what to expect. Not to mention it was my parents' house we were going to, so I knew what was coming. And it wasn't going to be easy, at first anyway, but I was confident that I was prepared, and very optimistic about my new life with my new husband.

 

Still laughing at his story, I began looking out my window at the passing scenery. The changing landscapes were one of the things I really enjoyed about long trips. We were currently passing through the state of Arizona, and Bobby, remembering the last time we drove through here, pointed out his window and said,” Plateau.” This set off another round of giggles, but as I looked out the windows, the laughter dyed on my lips, and my heart skipped a beat when it started to dawn on me what I was seeing.

 

“Um, Bobby...?” I glanced at him nervously to see if he saw it too, but if he did, it apparently didn't bother him.

 

“What?”

 

“Um, nothing.”

 

I trusted in his judgment, and if he wasn't alarmed at the bright red semi that was so obviously speeding up and gaining on us then neither was I. But I continued to watch the truck anyway out my mirror, and soon he was next to us.

 

And apparently he was pissed.

 

The drivers side window on the truck was rolled down about halfway, and although we could not hear him, it was obvious he was cursing us.

 

I looked at Bobby and tried to keep a straight face. “Man, he is pissed!” I looked back out the window before I started laughing again, after all, his mom had given me specific instructions about not encouraging him or instigating his one-of-kind, crazy behavior. Basically: don't laugh, and don't add fuel to the fire in the name of being on his side.

 

I said I would try.

 

The truck driver had maintained a steady speed that kept him next to us long enough to raise his fist in anger and shout obscenities. (Use your imagination.) Then he let his truck begin to fall back, and then, suddenly, sped up, rolled his window the rest of the way down, and threw what I am pretty sure was a can of coke. Bobby was one step ahead, however, and sped up just in time for the can not hit our car. I turned in my sit and watched the brown liquid explode from the can as it hit the ground.

 

 

I turned back around in my seat. “Did you see that?” I exclaimed incredulously. “He threw a can of coke at us!”

 

No response from Bobby, and I assumed that while I found it a little extreme, he probably thought nothing of it.

 

The car began speeding up, and Bobby once again was gripping the steering wheel tightly with both hands, his body leaned forward, and his eyes intense.

 

I definitely was not laughing now.

 

“Bobby- hey, Bobby, let it go already,” I began, but I am pretty sure he did not hear me.

 

Oh, God, I thought to myself, and my heart started pounding. He is going to fucking do it again!

 

As if that were his cue, he switched to the right hand lane.

 

“Come on, please, Bobby, just fucking let it go!” But my words fell on deaf ears, and he hit the brakes with such force I had put my hand on the dashboard to keep from flying forward. Bobby glanced in the rearview mirror, biting his lower lip, his eyes flashing. We had been married only two days then, so that look was a first for me, although it would later become all too familiar.

 

Uncertain what do or say next, I sat back in the seat and took a deep breath, trying to slow my beating heart, praying that this was the end. Surely the trucker realizes Bobby is a dumbass(come one, our little car vs. semi) and takes the opportunity to be the bigger man. (No pun intended.)

 

Bobby was doing the speed limit again, still in the right hand lane, still biting his lower lip. I sighed and went back to looking out my window, occasionally glancing in my mirror at the red truck, who was not far behind us at all.

 

Suddenly, I notice the truck picking up speed again .(He is now in the left hand lane.)

 

I glanced nervously at Bob, and I am knowing this is not going to end well.

 

That was an understatement. Nothing could have prepared for what happened next.

 

 

 

 


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