Arms crossed, I lean against the cracked brick wall and wait, my eyes glued to the thirty-inch flat-screen television, watching some lady beat the shit out of her sister for sleeping with her husband.
“Well, that’s a fucked-up family,” I mumble, smirking down at Amira, who is glaring at me with a stunned expression.
“I don’t think we’re in a position to judge, Roman,” she says, toeing the checkered black and red linoleum flooring.
Slapping a hand over my mouth, I do my fucking best to keep my bark of laughter inside, but what she said is a fucking shock, and I can’t contain my cackles, and neither can she.
Our howling draws the attention of the entire shop, causing Amira to quit her giggling and shrink in her seat.
“I can’t believe you said that.”
“It just slipped out.”
Before I have a chance to say anything, I’m called next, a tall ass Puerto Rican man around thirty beckoning me forward to his seat on the far left.
“You gonna be okay while I go?” I ask, bending forward at the hips so I can plant a kiss on her forehead, thumbs rolling underneath her eyes, melting me under her gaze.
“Yeah, I’ll be fine.”
With a final kiss to the head, I step back and go to his station, shaking his hand before sitting down.
“What are we doing today?”
I give him a rundown of what I want to be done; shaved sides but kept long on top because I love how Amira’s fingers feel running through the strands.
I relax back in the seat as he drapes the cape around my shoulders, sighing as I gaze into the mirror.
There are days when the memory of my brother decides to come through in my reflection—one of the many downfalls of being a twin—and today seems to be one of those days.
The sharp pangs of sadness that spring in my chest are unwanted, but I can't help my feelings, no matter how badly he may not deserve them. Tommy was my brother, and as much as I would like to slice open my arteries and bleed out the part of him that is inside me, I can’t.
I have to live with his ghost, the same way Amira has to live with hers…
My thoughts are broken when the channel on the television changes, bits and pieces of the news segment drifting into my ear, making my blood run cold when I catch it’s me that they’re talking about.
“Still no updates have been made on the murder of Augustus sheriff, John McLaren. Sources say that police are running out of resources to continue this search for suspect Roman Marcello.”
“That’s a shame, Janice, that this man may have the opportunity to live freely after committing such a heinous crime.”
“Couldn’t agree more, Myrtle. Back to you, Jason in the studio.”
“If you ask me, that cop deserved it,” my barber says in response to the report, carefully shaving around my ear.
What he says has my heart beating out of my chest. My pulse is pounding so brutally that I’m sure he can feel it through my skin. Careful to keep my tone neutral, I ask what he means.
“I don’t know. Call it a ghetto man’s intuition, but why would this Roman guy, who only killed one fuckin’ guy in his life, get out of prison early, then ruin his chance for freedom by killing a random ass cop? It doesn’t make any fucking sense unless that cop deserved it.”
“Isn't it bad enough that he killed a cop? Why does it matter what the cop did?” I’m grinding my teeth as I spit out the words, doing my best to rein in my building temper as I force myself to defend McLaren.
“Listen to me, kid, in my thirty-eight years of living, I’ve learned two fucking things. One, listen to your woman. She wouldn’t be telling you shit if it didn’t matter. And two, all that fucking police uniform does is hide the monster in the man. So if this kid killed this cop, risking his own fucking freedom, it was for a damn good reason. I just fucking know it.”
I release the breath I was keeping in my chest, letting it flow out of me in tattered exhales as my gaze finds Amira in the mirror.
I wish she had heard my barber's words. Maybe then tears wouldn’t be cascading down her face as she stares down at the floor, her olive skin burning a fierce shade of red, fists clenched tightly by her sides.
She feels my gaze and meets my eyes, quickly blinking away the tears, patting her cheeks with the back of her hand to rid her skin of the moisture.
I love you, I mouth, feeling my heart break in two when her lips tremble the exact words back to me.
