Turning on my heels, I take a few steps toward the door, ready to make my exit, when a voice tells me to stop. Leaving him will risk everything. Will risk Rowan. With no other thoughts, I turn back around, and my booted feet echo off the floor as I run to the side of the bed, tearing off the shit, revealing the man. He’s barely a man. I close my eyes for a fraction as I cock my gun.
“Please don’t. I won’t tell anyone. Please,” he begs me, but I block it out as his hands come up in a praying stance, his eyes bloodshot and full of tears. Raising the gun, I put a bullet in his head. The sheet becomes crimson in an instant as he gurgles, his body stiffing before it becomes quiet.
I leave his bullet; I try to collect the ones for people who they were meant for.
My chest hurts as I run out of the bedroom, down the stairs and outside. I don’t stop running until I jump in my car, Weeks waiting patiently.
He sees my face. “What happened?” Concern laces his words.
Slamming my head back on the headrest a few times, I holster my gun. “There was more than J.J. in the house.” I pause, breathing in. “He was fucking some escort… A younger man.”
“Shit,” Weeks says as he takes off down the road, our headlights illuminating the passing mailboxes. “It’s done. Nothing you could have done differently. It’s you or them, and we always pick our own selves, Luca.” He says that to me, and I know he's right, but fuck, this wasn't something I was prepared for. I don’t do that with no feelings.
We sit in silence as Weeks drives us back to the hotel. The only thing I want right now is Rowan, and I know I still have over a day before I can feel whole again. Until then, I’ll mourn that young man and leave the thoughts of him in the hotel room before I go home back to her.
Chapter Eleven
Rowan
The closer I get to my town, the faster my heart pounds. I’m an idiot; I should have stayed home. But I honestly can’t live the rest of my life knowing David is still out there. Maybe I’m a bad person, fucked up in the head, but he’s the reason I am this way. He’s the reason I wake up in terror, why my body is stained, scarred, and riddled with pain. It’s all because of him. He’s the catalyst of it all, and he doesn’t get to live freely because I’ll never be able to again. No matter how much time passes, I’ll forever carry their hands on me and fear in the pit of my stomach.
I didn’t need directions to get here, nor to his new place. Everyone knows what lies beyond the tracks here, and I know how to get here like the back of my hand.
Turning down the radio as I turn left, needing quietness, my eyes dart left and right, seeing the upheaval of the town. Falling down houses, empty lots, and numerous people lagging around, oblivious to the world surrounding them, overtaken by the drugs they’ve ingested.
Pulling my ball cap down lower, my hair tucked underneath it, my phone directs me to take the first right coming up. Still, I ignore it, going my way, following the bumpy road jostling me, my heart picks up, the fact my body knows I’m close to David, closing the space between us, I parallel park the truck between two beat up vehicles, sticking out like a sore thumb.
Cutting the engine, I watch his house. The parking space gives me the best view without worrying about getting caught. The street is dead, which is shocking, but as I sit and the sun disappears, that all changes. They’re like cockroaches; once night falls, they emerge from their nest.
My eyes follow every person as I try to sink lower into my seat, peaking over the steering wheel.
I didn’t grow up where David is now, but the road and homes…if you want to call them that, are reminiscent of where I grew up a few blocks away.
Laying in my dark room, I try to force myself to fall asleep before my dad comes home, knowing what will follow when he does.
Funny how our bodies are; even though I’m exhausted from the constant of everyday life, school, and trying to walk on eggshells, my body still can’t come down from the anxiety to fall asleep.
I lie there counting, but once I get to three hundred, I’m mad at myself when I hear the front door slam shut. My body immediately coils into itself, preparing for when David comes through my bedroom door.
With the force of my door being kicked open, I feel the air rushing across my room, swearing I can smell the stale beer it brings along with it.
“I know you’re not fucking asleep. Get up!”
My eyes squeeze tighter with every word he spills at me while his voice grows closer to my bed.
I yelp when my sheet is yanked off me. “Stop,” comes out so defeated from my lips.
“You didn’t do a single thing while I was gone,” he yells down at me.
Staring up at him, his hair falls into his face, as his breath assaults my nose, making my stomach curdle.
My yelling back at him will make everything worse. Because I cleaned, I did everything that I was supposed to, but it never matters anyway. I don’t even know why I do it all; I’ll still get hated and yelled at, anyway. Maybe I should do something for me to actually deserve his wrath.
I don’t move as my body trembles. My eyes watch him retreat, but I know he isn’t done.
I cover my head with my arms, knowing what’s coming. He doesn’t hit me with his hands, but with whatever he can find to throw at me, and tonight, it’s each of my wooden dresser drawers.
The pain radiates up my arm as the wooden drawer edge catches my skin, followed by the other three. He throws them at me with no care, hitting whatever he can. I curl into a fetal position, hoping he’s done when I know that’s all my dresser holds, but when a pain pierces my skull, sending immense pain down my neck, my arm starts to tingle. My cry comes out animalistic. The pain, foregoing any care; we have to not show him how bad we’re hurting. When I hear his feet retreat out of my room, my hand roams my head, feeling wetness. My lips shake as I cry louder, knowing it’s blood. Opening my eyes, I see my three pegged shelf with a carved heart in the middle, laying on the floor next to my bed.
