I’mgoing to have to be the one to kill Timothy.
The plan was to find him and inform the others about it. But that very plan has now gone out the fucking window because any move I make to reach out to my friends could alert the target. There’s a strong chance he’ll flee if he feels even remotely threatened by me, and high as he may be, he’s still coherent enough, so letting him get suspicious will only hinder me from getting the job done.
My heart is in my throat, and I’m starting to sweat a little. It’s not out of fear, to be sure, but out of the possibility that I could fail. And when I do, it’ll not only blow the plan to shit, but also mess up the crew and I’s standing with Aras, especially Dorran’s.
Stressing about what others think may not seem relevant in most cases, but here, in this city – where one wrong move can massively change the course of one’s life – it’s very important to do things the right way.
“Do your parents love you?” Timothy asks, breaking the momentary silence.
The sound of crickets fills the air, and the weather seems to have dropped, because it’s gotten chillier than it was a few minutes ago.
“My parents are dead,” I tell him. The words slip past me before I can think on them, but now that I’ve spoken them out loud, I realize that I feelnothing. I knew I wouldn’t, of course, but it’s the first time I’ve announced their deaths like this – as myparents. Shouldn’tthatwarrant a reaction?
Timothy swallows. “I’m sorry,” he says without looking at me. “Does it…how does it feel, not having either of them in your life?”
I don’t know why I’m indulging him. I guess it’s because there’s a comfort in being open with him, knowing his fate.
God, that’s so fucked up. But that’s life, isn’t it?
“I like how things are without them,” I answer.
“Why?” he asks.
“Because I get to be me and not care about facing repercussions for it. Because I get to do what I want, and when I want to without them judging and taunting each and every one of my choices. Their absence bred my hidden freedom, and I cherish it just as much as I do the people that are in my life right now.”
He looks at me. “You’re lucky,” he states. “I wanna say I am, too, since my mother’s dead. But my dad…well, he’s still around, and he’s a piece of work.”
“How so?”
Timothy chuckles, but there’s no humor in it. “He thinks I don’t take the family business seriously. He also thinks I’ll be the one to doom the Byron name for all eternity.” He scoffs. “Well, I’m sorry,Dad, that I’m not interested in owning restaurants where actual fuckinghuman beingsare minced and seasoned on platters for other humans to eat. While I understand that our world is a home for depravity, it doesn’t mean I want to be a part of it. The money, the status – I don’t want any of it.”
“And I’m assuming telling him that didn’t work?”
“Work? No. But it did get me a beating that left me bruised for days.”
His confession hits me like a ton of bricks. I know for a fact that if I let myself dive in and think hard enough, I’ll still be able tofeelthe pain of every scar my mother gave me during the course of her life. I know for sure that if I touch certain areas on my body, I’ll be able to get a clear sense of the bruises and bumps she used to leave me with, all in the name of petty jealousy. Those days are over, sure, but that doesn’t mean I’ll ever forget about them. Every tear I shed, or the ones I kept in have a story of their own. I may have learned to lock away those memories, but every once in a while, I do let myself think about them, if only to assure myself of having won over them.
Those who try to oppress a person’s liberation by judging their choice of lifestyle are often people that hide behind an ugly, self-created mask. It’s the same mask that makes them see flaws in someone instead of greatness; that blinds them to human decency and makes them appreciate the failures of others. It’s a sickness, this mask, and sad as it is, a lot of people don’t see it that way. If only they’d open their eyes andlook, they’d realizehow amazing the world can be without the meaningless gossip and negativity.
If only…
“I’m sorry,” I tell Timothy. “No one deserves to be treated like that, especially by a parent.”
He shrugs. “It is what it is.”
“Doesn’t necessarily mean it’s the right thing.”
“Of course it isn’t.” He sniffs. “But it’s the only thing I’ve got.”
“You do have the option to pick a life for yourself,” I say to him. “So why aren’t you taking a chance on it?”
“Why are you sitting here all alone?” he counters my question with one of his own, and it’s such a sudden shift that it takes me off guard.
“What?”
“You said Aras is a friend of yours. If that’s the case, then why are you here all by yourself?” he asks.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I came out here for some fresh air,” I answer, lifting a brow. “Iamallowed to do that, aren’t I?”
