Used To
DELILAH
I feel the touch still running through my hair. The hot tears searing the back of my eyelids, my throat drier than ever, I sit on my Aunt Reba’s back porch, my hair in my hands, my stomach swirling once again from the mix of liquor that refuses to leave my lips.
And the smell… Oh God, the smell.
Only this time it isn’t coming from me. And before I can move away from the wretched stench, it settles in beside my body, wafting off the big figure that moves in to sit at the bottom of the stair by my feet.
Chuck Clifford could never be mistaken for light on his toes. A hunking wall of a man, he was heavy-footed in all he did, his chest just as wide as the tree trunks he mistook for legs. His humongous presence crowds me as he walks past. And as he hunkers down by my side, s
