I need to read it again.
“Oh, here we go again. How many times are you going to read that shit? You’re pathetic.”Life is not a fan of it, or him for that matter. And to be completely honest about it.
I.
Don’t.
Know.
Every time I read it, I make a connection with his handwriting. It drives me to a deep slumber where I’m the observer and I can see myself with him. He watches me with intensity, I can even smell his perfume, that unique scent, filling the air. I can see myself asking him questions, but I can’t really hear what I’m saying. He’s not answering, he just watches me… In fact, I can only see his eyes behind the forest of eyelashes, those light green eyes that…
I wake up feeling cold and wet, again… My mind is lost.Where am I?My body reacts faster than my mind— it’s ready for another ‘work session.’ But no, my slow mind finally catches up and I realize I just fell asleep on the grass and it started to rain. I’m not back in there, I’m still home, I’m still free. I stand up and rush inside to flee the water. I’m so wet that the letter is stuck against my body.
Stuck? No!!! That doesn’t sound good— and it’s not. The letter is ruined. I spread the sheet of paper on the table and put a heavy cookbook on top of it. I might be able to avoid its total destruction.
Please, don’t be completely ruined.
After staring at the book for a while, I start feeling cold. I’m still wet and right now I feel the chill in my bones. There’s only one thing I need to do right now— take a shower. While the hot water runs through my body, I can only think about the last paragraph, again and again.
“If you need closure, here’s my address
7011 St. Thomas Street. Alamo Hills.
(You’re free to take my life if that will give you peace.)”
Does that mean what I think it means? Does he want me to kill him? Does he want to die for what he did to me? Is he broken like I am? So many questions to ask, but… Am I ready for the answers?
“Of course, you’re fucking not,”Life says, and I agree with her on this one.
I can only wonder how his life is outside that cell, if he has friends, if he ever loved anybody. That last question triggers an emotion I can’t push away— envy. If he did love someone, then… I just want him to… feel… pain.
I’m sure he knew I’d feel the need to take revenge, and the next step is obvious. That’s why he left his address, but… What if that’s a setup and I’m walking right into the trap? He’s clearly bigger, stronger than me. He’s also trained. All that adds up to me being overpowered, and once again under his mercy.
Should I really try this? Is this what I need to find what I’ve lost?
Chapter Ten
The storm and the darkness.
Bruno
I’ve been sitting here for the better part of an hour staring at the TV. The blues are playing the whites… yeah, I don’t fucking like football or any other ‘macho’ sport. The beer in my hand feels warm and tastes like piss. I should get rid of it before I keep sipping, but I’d have to move from my seat and I really don’t fucking feel like it.
The entire house is completely dark, no surprises there. That’s how we monsters like it. I feel comfortable in the shadows. The TV lights up my face and makes my pupils go crazy, but I don’t fucking care. My mind is elsewhere, thinking about her; the rain taps on the window and makes one of my favorite sounds ever. You may wonder, Why my favorite? Well, that’s an easy one. It’s just a plain sound, without variations. It doesn’t make you feel joy or sadness, it just is.
Thank God, my house is one of the few places I really like, where I can be myself and more importantly let my mind go wild without having to worry about how anybody else sees me. This house is pretty quiet, away from everything and everybody who bothers me. I’m always by myself, except when ‘Pain-in-the-fucking-ass’ Carter decides to invite himself here to bust my balls, which has been happening more and more frequently lately. Apart from that, this is the only place where I can find some sort of peace. Well, to be completely honest, ever since I resigned and started with my ‘retirement plan,’ something’s been itching in the back of my head. It’s also in the middle of my fucking chest; it feels like a hole. Sometimes it just hurts badly and others it itches. After all that happened lately, I’ve learned that it doesn’t matter if you’re rich, have an expensive house or car; if you feel like shit, you’ll feel like shit no matter where you are or how much you fucking have.
Someone knocks on the front door and distracts my depressing thoughts.
Who the hell could that be?
It’s pouring outside; it’s not normal for Carter to show up in this weather. He’s probably between a woman’s legs right now, in a cheap motel. Besides, he never knocks, he tends to barge in like the fucking Kool-Aid guy.
I turn off the TV and walk towards the front door.
The storm rages, the rain batters the house even harder. As a precaution, I grab my sidearm— you never know who knocks at your door nowadays, plus I’ve made a lot of enemies in the past years. I stand by the door against the wall. “Who is it?” I ask, but nobody replies. I train the gun on the door and glance through the peephole. A shadowy figure stands outside. I don’t see a gun. It doesn’t look like an enemy either, more like a ghost, if you ask me. I hide my weapon behind my right thigh and open the door a few inches.
I see a woman, dripping from top to bottom, looking down at the ground. Her skinny arms are crossed on her chest. She looks like a spoiled child.
