001: A Little Spring Cleaning [FLASHBACK]

001: A Little Spring Cleaning [FLASHBACK] May 6, 2020 2:08:50 GMT -5

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Post by Admin on May 6, 2020 2:08:50 GMT -5

• ELLIE •

May 5, 2018 || Las Vegas

The place was an absolute shithole. Breaking into the ground floor fleabag apartment had taken all of twenty seconds, leaving Brad Jackson wondering just how little regard his daughter actually had for her own safety. He hadn't expected to find her living here in squalor, in one of those squat little boxes in The Naked City, Vegas' version of Skid Row. A year ago, Ellie wouldn't have been caught dead in a place like this. If the information he'd been given was correct, she was well on her way to following in her mother's footsteps. He'd paid a private detective to track her down, to find out what she was doing and when he'd seen the photographs of her naked and emaciated on stage, he'd felt sick. He'd felt guilty, knowing that he could have prevented some of this damage if he'd been able to break his own narcissistic patterns.

He knew she'd been spiraling after her marriage had fallen apart. At first, he'd tried to be there for her, had tried to be the parent that she'd been missing in her formative years – that had fallen by the wayside when his own relationship had ended up on the rocks. He'd moved to Miami and things had grown strained before she'd stopped communicating at all. He'd given her space. He hadn't known what else to do and the longer it went on, the easier it became to just let it lapse. Nearly three years had passed in the blink of an eye.

Sitting here now, after tearing the place apart and systematically destroying all of her vices, he had a pretty clear picture of desperation and addiction – one that he recognized intimately. He'd found pills and booze, the paraphernalia for what he assumed she was using to shoot up. He'd been sitting in a sagging lawn chair in the middle of the tiny living room for hours, vacillating between anger and guilt.

Ellie was humming to herself when she shoved open the door, oblivious to the fact that the latch was now broken. It was the middle of the night and she'd been eager to get home after her shift. She'd gotten paid and she'd managed to pick up some heroin. She wanted to get high as soon as possible and within those lonely walls of her disgusting apartment was her favorite place to do so. She didn't have to worry about anyone bothering her or trying to take advantage. She didn't have to worry about judging eyes or disappointing anyone. It was just her. She could feel her body begging for the fix and the last thing she wanted to do was deny herself.

Her determination to get loaded was sidetracked when she saw the silhouette of a large man sitting and facing the door. The outside light revealed the tattoos on his arms and she shook her head violently. There was no way he was actually here. It had to be a hallucination. Sometimes she had those and sometimes it was him.

Shrugging her shoulders, Ellie made a beeline for the fridge and opened it up. Pulling out a cheap bottle of booze, she unscrewed the cap and took a long swig. She leaned back against the fridge, pointedly ignoring the apparition.

Jackson watched her, noting the dark hollows under her eyes and the track marks in the crook of her elbow. She looked so much like her mother in the sketchy light that it broke his heart. "Hello, Eleanor."

"Nope," she shook her head, "you're jus' a figmen'." Her words seemed to constantly slur these days. "Go 'way." She laughed to herself as she took another long swig and closed her eyes, her head lolling back against the fridge.

"You're drinking tap water," he said conversationally, not moving from that chair he was perched on. "Took the liberty of pouring out all the poison. Found them all. Figured if you're drinking that swill, odds are you probably won't notice the difference. Does it taste any better?"

Ellie's eyes snapped open as she squinted at what she thought was a hallucination. She brought the bottle to her lips and took another swig, her eyes not leaving his. Realizing he was right, she immediately spit the water back into the bottle. "The whiskey'da been healthier." Even in her state, she felt embarrassed that her father was seeing her like this. "Vegas water sucks."

"It'd be worse if it were bottled in Flint," he chuckled humorlessly, keeping his voice pitched low, "but I don't want to kill you."

"Yeah?" Her tone oozed sarcasm, "well there's a fuckin' gold star for you then."

"I'd prefer it if you were sober – if it's all the same to you. We need to have a talk."

She pouted like a petulant child and it took everything in him not to get up and slap her. He stayed put in the chair, hands clasped tightly in front of him. "I don' wanna be sober, though." Ellie threw the bottle into the sink and opened the drawer she was standing in front of. She started rummaging, looking for the things that were now in the little bag resting under her father's boot. Frowning, she closed that one and opened the next, only to find that her mismatched silverware was gone as well.

"Yeah, I got that impression."

"As if you suddenly give a shit?" She rolled her eyes, finding a cheap plastic lighter that she pulled out and tossed on the counter. He'd left that one alone because it was empty. "Life's not so bad these days. I got mah own place, a job, an' a hobby." She was obviously referring to the drugs with the latter, flinging it at him like a slap in the face.

"Well shit," Jackson shifted, making the chair creak ominously, "you're living the dream, aren't you?"

"I know, right?" Ellie wouldn't meet his eyes; the last thing she wanted was for Jax to see her in this state. "So why the hell are you even here?"

"Maid service. Figured you could do with a little spring cleaning."

She stared at him in silence, trying to make sense of that before he sighed.

"Fucking hell. What do you want me to say? Better late than never, isn't it?" He muttered the question, lifting his head to look at her for a moment. "I'm still learning how to do this father shit, alright? Cut me some fucking slack. Took me a while to realize just how bad it had gotten." He didn't tell her that he'd been tipped off by one of her friends. He didn't think that would go over too well and it was better to keep that bridge un-burnt for the time being.

"Go to hell." She opened the first drawer again, rummaging around through the junk inside. She couldn't find any spoons and she was starting to get antsy, wondering where the hell they'd all gone.

"I should've come sooner – that's on me. I fucked up. What else is new, right? I've made so many mistakes where you're concerned, it's almost a running gag."

"Oh yeah," Ellie snapped, "fuckin' hilarious. Especially the part where you told me that bitch was dead only for her to turn up on my doorstep a year ago."

"Fuck." He could only imagine what the woman had wanted. "Okay. You're right: I shouldn't have lied to you about your mother." He looked down at the floor, at his boot prints in the grime and dust there. "I thought I was doing the right thing, telling you she was dead rather than the truth that she was still out there, living her life without a care in the world for how much damage she did to you." He sighed, shaking his head. "Tried to protect you from this life and instead I might as well have shoved that needle right into your veins myself for all the good it's done."

Ellie's shoulders went up in a shrug, trying to brush any feelings pertaining to her mother away. "She foun' me." Nope, brushing it away wouldn't work. "She came an' saw me... wanted money." She didn't want to shoot up anymore, didn't want Jax to see that. "Told me I survived the abortion she got. Told her I didn't have any money to give her and that's what she had to say." She flashed her father another limp thumbs-up. "So, I'm not even s'posed to be here anyways."

He sighed, shaking his head. Her mother had been twenty-three when she'd gotten knocked up, a party girl who slept around with the spring break crowd in Miami. He'd been eighteen, then, away from home for the first time and he'd enjoyed the way she loved to ride his dick when they were both high on cocaine more than her company. When she'd found out she was knocked up, she'd sought him out. She asked for him to pay for the abortion and he'd doled out the money from his trust fund. She was supposed to go to an actual clinic.

"Yeah," he closed his eyes for a few seconds, "I believe it. I'm sure whatever piece of shit she had doing that in some crack house was high as a kite – fucking junkies." The way he said it made it clear he was lumping her into that category. "So that's not really shocking, is it? She was a selfish cunt. She only cared about the party and being the life of it. I thought the fifty thousand I paid her was enough to keep her away from you. Honestly, I thought she was going to put it up her nose or whatever it is she's into these days. Expected her to kill herself – do us both a favor." He dragged in a deep breath, moving to his feet. The little black bag was stuffed into the inside pocket of his leather jacket so smoothly, she didn't even notice. "I'll give you enough time to pack a bag if you need to. And then we're hitting the road."

"Wait... what?" She stared at him. "We're hitting the road?" She had an idea what he was getting at. A few years back, she'd been on the other side of this situation with him. "Where're we going?"

"I'd say something trite like 'home', but that's not where I'm taking you." He took a few steps towards the bed, picking up an empty trash bag which he shook out. "I'm sure you appreciate the irony, but I didn't really have time to stop and buy a nice set of luggage for you."

Ellie didn't try to argue as it would have been pointless. Her arms wrapped around herself as she felt a prickle of something in her eyes. She looked around at the trash heap that had become her life. "I don't need this stuff." She said softly. She remembered then that she did have something she wanted to bring. Walking over to the pull-out bed, she grabbed a pillow off of it, revealing a shoe box. Holding onto it securely, she took a few steps in Jax's direction. "Okay... I'm ready." She wouldn't meet his eyes, instead she looked at the floor.

He wanted to snatch the box from her hand, to rifle through the contents and make sure it didn't contain any drug paraphernalia but at some point, he had to draw the line between concern and control – he had to trust her. Shaking his head at the state of her living conditions, he murmured, "should just douse it in gasoline, light a match and be done with it, hmmm?"

"I don't really care what happens to it." She didn't. The place was a dump and the only thing that meant anything was in that shoe box. They were things that couldn't be replaced; pictures from her wedding, pictures of her baby brother that she'd helped raise, and various other mementos that meant the world to her. "Will you come see me when they say it's okay?" She sounded almost like a small child, vulnerable and scared. "If you can't... or don' wan' to...." A few tears streamed her cheeks as she nodded. "I won' blame you." She swallowed hard and balled up her fist, using it to wipe at her eyes. She had made such a mess of her life and at that moment wished she could go back in time to the moment everything had fallen apart.

"I'll be there." Jackson closed the distance between them and wrapped her in a hug. "No matter what happens, you're still my little girl. You always will be, even when you make a big fuckin' mess out of everything because you're too stubborn to ask for help. Just proves you're my flesh and blood. Being an absolute mess is the Jackson curse, remember?"

Sobs racked her slight frame and he could feel the sharp lines of her shoulder blades as he held her, letting her cry into his chest. She was mourning everything she'd lost, all the things she'd tried to bury and numb herself against feeling. "I... I'm so sorr-"

"Shh," he cut her off, "we're gonna get you well." He started humming the song Eleanor Rigby, the one that had become a strange sort of anthem for them when they'd first found each other. Her sobs quieted to sniffles but he didn't let her go.

She finally moved, hugging him back as best she could with the box between them. "And then I can come home?"

"Of course," he kissed the top of her head, realizing he'd never really told her the truth. "You'll always have a place there, kiddo. No matter what. I promise." He hugged her tight, saying what he'd wished his father had said to him at least a thousand times over the years. "I'm glad you're still here. I'm glad I wasn't too late. I don't know what I'd have done if I lost you again."

For the first time in a very long time, she actually felt like she was wanted somewhere, as if someone cared. On the heels of that was the crushing shame over what she'd done and what she'd become. "I'll make you proud," she whispered, looking up at her father with that tear-streaked face. "I'll get clean. Okay?"

"You didn't put that junk in your arm," he replied, "and I know how much you wanted to. That's a start. Keep on like that and I'll be the first to sing your praises from the rooftops."

"I..." her voice faltered, "I love you, Dad."

"Yeah?" Jackson chuckled, "remember that sentiment tomorrow. I doubt you'll feel the same once you start to dry out. Believe me." He took a step back, releasing her from his embrace only to hold his hand out to her. "C'mon. Let's get the hell out of this place before I really do feel the need to burn it to the ground." She actually laughed and he felt like maybe she wasn't a lost cause, maybe she could be saved after all.