Stole everything but her heart by Robert Ragan

Flash Fiction, Punk Noir Magazine, Robert Ragan

Leslie Madison had to let Terry Charles go. If not, she would have been stuck in the cycle of addiction forever, and she could never have a damn thing.

It was bad enough that he allowed her to support him plus feed his habits. But when she couldn’t, he took everything.

“Baby, I know I was wrong for selling the ring your grandmother gave you, but as far as that gold necklace with the heart-shaped charm, I don’t feel bad about that at all. Who was it from, by the way?”

“Doesn’t matter either way. You got to smoke the crack with me too, right?”

When Terry said that, Leslie’s mind took her back to the day her grandmother gave her this special gold ring. All the trees and flowers were in full bloom. They sat together outside on the swing and talked.

Leslie’s mother chose to go on the run with another outlaw. While her father served a life sentence for multiple armed robberies and attempted murder.

So basically, her grandma was her mother, and that ring meant the world to her. So damn right she smoked the crack with him. Her tears falling on the can weren’t strong enough to put out the sizzling melting rock.

Leslie had her mother’s piercing blue eyes. The same long dark hair. Unfortunately, she also had her addictive personality and poor taste in men too. The only difference was Leslie would work and take care of herself, while her mother wanted everything handed to her from a man.

Her father couldn’t keep her high and still give her all the other fancy things she wanted and look where it got him. Thinking of her dad, Leslie figured he would probably have ended up in prison, even if he had never met her mother.

Terry brought up her father after the time he borrowed her car and sold the stereo system, plus the rims off of it for crack.

Leslie said, “First of all, my father wasn’t such a pathetic thief that he had to steal women’s jewelry. From what I hear, he was a violent ruthless bastard and would have fucked you up for breaking my heart the way you do.”

Terry was close to being a skeleton, with sunk in raccoon eyes and horrible teeth that told him of his addiction. 

It was sickening to hear him say, “We’ll, ya daddy can’t save you, so just hope he doesn’t drop the soap, ok sweetheart.”

That day Leslie showed Terry she could save herself when she got up and left his sorry ass.

What a fucking bum; Terry wouldn’t work anywhere.

Hand jobs, blow jobs, and foot jobs. He once said those were the only kind of jobs he liked and damned if he wasn’t telling the truth. Always so quick to want to mess around, only it wasn’t very attractive the way he sat around and wouldn’t even clean the house while she worked all night at the diner.

By the way, plenty of men wanted her more than a late breakfast. It would have been nothing to leave Terry and move on.

Leslie stuck by him through everything, but when she decided to get sober, it became clear that she had to let him go. He lived in the trailer she rented, so she had to make him go.

Leslie broke the news to Terry on a rainy Saturday morning. She said she was leaving to spend the day with friends, and when she returned, she wanted everything he owned out of her place. 

That evening when Leslie got back home, she saw that Terry had not only removed his belongings but some of hers as well.

This loser stole her T.V., laptop, even her fucking couch! Leslie could understand the electronics, but who on earth would sell someone’s couch for crack cocaine?

Only Terry Charles could pull off such a thing. And this time, Leslie didn’t go out searching for her stuff in pawn shops and crack houses. She didn’t even file a police report.

Terry could have it all just as long as he left her the fuck alone.