Broken Dreams(236)

“Are we ready?” Nick asked cautiously, and I nodded.

He started the truck and we drove off into the late afternoon. Lucky for Henry, we found a bar that was untouched, and he loaded up the truck with his drug of choice.



***



We pulled up to another house that looked abandoned. It was in a subdivision so, of course, I flashed back to the “Gun-slinging Jersey Cowboy” and his sidekick, “Mangy Wrench-wielding Douchebag”.

Nick and Thomas got out to check the house since Henry was passed out from boozing it up. They knocked, and no one answered. Nick tried the handle, but it was locked so he came back to the truck.

“Wake him up,” Nick demanded. “We need his lock picking skills.”

“Okay, just give him a minute, though.” I sighed, knowing that trying to wake him in the middle of a drunken slumber could sometimes get ugly.

He had pulled a gun on me one too many times for Nick’s comfort, let alone mine. It wasn’t that he was pissed with me for waking him, but he was usually startled, which caused him to instantly go into program mode.

I got out of the truck, walking to the passenger side, and took a deep breath before I opened the door. I carefully pulled off his ball cap, which was pulled down over his face. I stroked his beautiful bearded face with the backs of my fingers. He stirred a little under my touch and moaned. He crossed his arms in front of his chest, and twisted around away from me. I decided to try the nice approach.

“Henry,” I whispered in his ear. “Lover…wake up.” His eyes flickered a little and he groaned. “Come on, Henry. I need you to wake up.” I reached up and rubbed his shoulder and back.

“What?” he mumbled, still facing away from me.

“We need a professional lock picker,” I said with a playful tone. I decided to kiss his ear a little. He swatted at me like I was a bug.

“Then call one,” he grumbled.

“Henry…”

“Please, Elaina…,” he snapped. “I’m so fucked up right now.” His words were little more than slurs. Nick was pacing impatiently, mumbling to himself. I heard several obscenities strung together with a whole lot of name calling mixed in…directed at Henry, of course.

“I know, I can see that. But we need to get inside for the night, and we don’t want to break any windows.”

“Fine.” After jamming the heels of his palms into his eyes, he opened them. He reached down into one of the pockets in his jeans and pulled out a little tool set. He grabbed his hat and put it back on. Slowly, he climbed out of the truck and staggered up to the door. I tried to help keep him stable.

Once we made it to the door, we were inside in about two seconds. Apparently, his mad lock picking skills transferred over through his drunken state. Nick and Thomas cleared the house.

Once Claire and I got in the house, we saw that it was mostly empty. The menfolk brought in all of our belongings. It was getting tiresome loading and unloading the truck.

Henry pulled a piece of carpet against the wall, then started in on yet another bottle of wine. Thankfully, my boy scout had a corkscrew in his pocket tool set.

“Can you at least share some with me?” I asked, holding out my hand.

“Are you going to dump it?” he asked, clutching it. He was worried because I had dumped bottles after he handed them to me before.

“No. I promise. I would just like a sip or two. Maybe I can relax.” He reluctantly passed the bottle over, and I took a few sips. It was pretty good. I looked at the bottle, and realized it was a pricey one. “Sad that this is being wasted like this, and not on a special occasion.”

“Yeah, really,” Henry mumbled when I passed it back to him. He pulled me close, positioning me in between his legs. I leaned back, and he was playing with my hair.

No matter how pissed his drinking made me…or him, for that matter…I still loved him and wanted to be close to him. He had moments where I wanted to kick his ass but, for the most part, I just wanted to be in his arms. He was still affectionate, even if he was in a drunken stupor.

“Let’s get some food into you. You haven’t eaten today yet.” His body was showing signs of his own abuse. He was losing muscle tone, and he was drinking more than he was eating.

I felt such a heavy sadness for him because he used to take great pride in his physical fitness. He was always proud of his physique. Before the whole bullshit started, he spent two hours minimum in the gym nearly every single day, even weekends.

I got up and hunted down the bag of pretzels and jar of peanut butter we found earlier that day. We all sat around, munching. It definitely wasn’t what I wanted, but it filled my stomach.