Sonny
Ireceived a message from Leigh on Saturday night, asking if she could come over.
I didn’t answer her at first. My mind ran much too fast with my meeting with King to do anything. So when that first text came through, I didn’t even give it a second look.
But as evening turned to midnight and midnight turned to two a.m., I found that I couldn’t just keep thinking about King over and over again. Sure, I could plan contingencies. Sure, the rest of the crew and I had planned for backup, for protection, for all sorts of scenarios, but I also needed something to put my mind at ease.
After all, part of the warfare with King was psychological—I had little doubt that King was counting on a lack of sleep on my end to make whatever he wanted easier.Not that you need someone to be sleep deprived to put a fucking bullet in their skull.
I pulled up the message from Leigh and gave it a closer look.
“Hey, I hope you’re as good as can be. Whenever you want, I’d like to see you. Perhaps tonight? I could come over and we could talk.”
There was nothing particularly layered there, although it was interesting that she said she wanted to talk—she wasn’t exactly the subtle kind who said she wanted to watch movies when really she wanted to watch me eat her out.
Finally, at this godawful hour of about half an hour past two, I wrote her back.
“Long day. But you can call if you want. Too much shit to deal with in person right now.”
I sent the message and stared at the screen, for some reason believing that she’d respond now…why? I had no idea. Maybe I just knew that if I didn’t talk tonight, there was literally zero chance of speaking to her tomorrow. Not with King around the—
The text bubble popped up.
She is responding now?
I wasn’t the only one who struggled with sleep issues.
It didn’t take long for her reply to pop up.
“Now? I’m awake if you are.”
Fuck it. You wouldn’t have texted her if that wasn’t an option for her.
I just called her instead of responding. It was easier.
“Hey, you OK?”
“No, but I’m OK enough to talk,” I said, the exhaustion of the night taking away any self-censorship I might have had. “What’s going on?”
“Well, I wanted to apologize.”
Apologize?
“What the hell for?”
“Remember this morning when I acted a bit crazy? I said I needed some time and space and you, rightfully, just kind of brushed me out the door?”
“Sort of?” I said. I remembered it, but I was trying to make sense of this. Apologize for that? I thought it had been a completely normal response—not the one I wanted, but not like it was her screaming and breaking shit of mine.
“Well, I spoke to the Cook sisters, and they pointed me in the right direction. I spoke to my father, and he made me realize some things. And…I guess I’m just calling to say, I know you’re dealing with some shit right now, and I know this isn’t a great time, but I want to revisit that conversation whenever you want.”
Oh, shit.
Oh, damn.
My stomach immediately flared. What the fuck was this? I didn’t get any sort of fucking nerves like this for other women. Why the hell would Leigh occupy this space?
How quickly I had forgotten this morning. How quickly I’d forgotten how I was ready to follow in the footsteps of my father and Spawn by offering her a place by my side. How quickly, now, I was coming back around to that.
