I slide the gun into his mouth. He tries for a wisecrack around the steel, but only a vowel comes out. I lean until the barrel bumps his back molar. We both hear it click against enamel.
“You should pray,” I tell him.
He shakes his head the tiniest bit. Right. I’m not a praying person, and he’s not someone prayers were written for.
“Okay,” I say.
I shoot him once through the soft of his palate. The sound is small, contained, a cough that becomes meat. He goes still with a twitch.
Patchy sobs. Scar groans, not dead; I fix that with one round behind the ear. Then I stand over Patchy and look him in the face. He shakes his head so fast the world blurs, palms up.
“Please,” he says. “Please—I didn’t—I just—”
“Open your mouth,” I tell him.
He does, hiccuping. I drop the grey scrap into his tongue and close his jaw with my hand until his teeth click. It ends so fast that when it is over, I feel like a dick for not drawing it out.
I find a counter and a mop sink. I wash my hands under a thin trickle, not looking at the stainless mirror that reflects my face in melted strips. I am not interested in the sermon it wants to give.
Before long, I’m gone from the room and, like a fool, back in her apartment.
I have to leave this town.
It’s that or die here.
I tell myself death would be easier once the dust settles, once the anger burns out of me.
But when it’s only grief and regret left, the will to die slips away too.
I pace the room, drag a hand down my face, and look around what used to be Rhea’s place.
Fuck.
“She’s gone,” I mumble. “Fucking gone.”
The blood is still underneath my nails.
It’s over.
And it’s my fault, really.
I brought the storm. I parked it outside her bar and walked her straight into it. I told myself she was safe if I didn’t touch her. That I could keep my hands clean if I just played the bright fool, the guy who tells jokes and smiles while bleeding inside. But that trick’s run dry.
First Lark. Now Rhea.
I should leave. Right this fucking second.
The problem is, I just want to sit on the floor here, on Rhea’s floor, and wait for her to come back.
Wouldn’t that be something?
If she could just walk through the door, hug me, and I’d tell her, fuck it, you know what? Let’s leave this town together. I always wanted to anyway, just felt stuck in it, like in mud.
Maybe she’d bring Lark with her.
What if the three of us could just fuck off to some better place with rainbows and sunshine and whatever else there still is to experience?
I press my palms to the edge of the counter, lean in, and laugh.
