I point at a black metal gun. “I want that one.”
“There’s a two-day waiting period,” the man patiently explains.
I do the math in my head real quick. If I buy it now, I’ll have it the morning of the gala. That’s perfect. I smile the best I can. “That’s perfect. I mean… I can wait.”
The man smiles benignly. “Can I see your ID for this purchase? It’s eight hundred dollars, not counting any ammunition.”
“Eight hundred dollars,” I mutter under my breath while digging for my wallet. I hate this part. The guy is going to touch my ID, but at least it’s the fake ID and cash so that I don’t have to disinfect my entire wallet when I get home.
Thankfully, the guy is quiet through most of the transactionand the required paperwork. Once I take my pretend driver’s license back from him, my fingers tremble as I collect the documentation that’ll let me pick up the gun in forty-eight hours. The air outside is a welcome slap to my face, lessening the anxiety that threatens to overtake me.
Tugging my ball cap back down, I hurriedly walk the twelve blocks home. I would rather die than get into a rideshare, plus it’s not like I want someone knowing I was at the gun store. Oh my god, the gun store. I’m losing my marbles.
Once I get back home, I strip myself down, toss my clothes into the washer with my disinfectant detergent, and climb into the shower to scrub myself down. My body is pink by the time I’m done. Shit. I forgot to disinfect my wallet and everything inside it. I don’t feel like doing it right now, but it’ll bother me if I don’t, turning into a spiral of thoughts that will make it impossible to sleep until I do it. Even with my medicine to control my obsessive-compulsive disorder, I can’t escape the need for everything to be clean in my house. No germs in sight, ever.
After tugging on exercise shorts and a baggy T-shirt, I stomp down the stairs to get to work disinfecting my wallet. And once that’s done, I can finally relax for the rest of the day. What that means is I’m going to cook my mother’s pastina recipe and watchThe Gooniesfor the millionth time.
Cooking pastina always reminds me of my mother. When I had cancer, she cooked the pastina so often that Reid got sick of it. Only his rebellion made her cook something else; even then, it seemed to be under duress. Thinking of younger Reid makes me feel sad and lonely, especially now that he’s moved in with Dante. It’s nice to not have anyone in my space for once, but despite the anxiety Reid caused me, it wascomforting to not live alone in this house that’s too big for one person.
I’m lonely, is what I am.
And I’m thinking of killing my uncle in two days because he is an awful bully who demands more and more of me each time we speak. Dig up dirt on this person, that person, now this senator, now that congressman. One day his dirty deeds are going to get me tossed in jail, which is a death sentence for someone with germ fears like my own.
I finish cooking the pastina and settle onto the couch to watchThe Goonies. I stare for a moment at the empty spot on the sofa where Reid always sat with his sketchbook, wishing maybe I could call him, ask him how his day was, just tell him I love him. But knowing Reid, that would only irritate him, and I’m tired of irritating Reid. Giving him blood after his accident will have to be my love declaration for this decade.
I wish it was time for Parker to go to class so he’d stop by for a cup of tea or coffee. It’s so nice when he visits. What would he think if I told him all the shit my uncle makes me do? All the evil, vile things I’ve researched so Marc can bury an opponent. Sometimes I wonder about digging up dirt on my uncle and threatening him with his own dirty deeds.
I hate wearing suits. I also hate guns. I hate galas. I hate my uncle. If I hadn’t taken antianxiety medicine before stepping into the hotel, I would surely have broken out in stress hives. Itching while being anxious about itching is the worst,but also very common. And it also very frequently happens to me.
But not tonight.
The gala is in full swing, and I feel sick.
The room is loud. Everything is closing in on me as I stand against the wall. Hoping no one will notice me. Hoping maybe Marc will forget he wanted to see me alone in his room afterward. I promised myself that if he asks about Reid one more time, I’m going to kill him.
The gun burns against my back where I have it tucked into the tight band of my dress slacks. Someone laughs to my right, making the hairs at the back of my neck stand even more upright. My stomach turns when another person walks too close to me, not touching, but close enough to make me feel the vague need to be sick all over the marble floor.
I think I’m having an out-of-body experience.
My palms sweat as my uncle makes an impassioned speech to the crowd, talking aboutfamily valuesandreturning to American decency. Oh my god, I should kill him just for that. He’s such a piece of shit. How my father was related to this man is beyond me. How I’m related to him is beyond me.
I don’t eat the meal provided. I don’t drink any drinks. All I can do is stand here and wait as the room closes in and the hour of my decision inches closer. What am I going to do?
CHAPTER 4
MASON
Present
Life is full of moments that either go down in your memory bank to never be forgotten, or they go down as useless information to be used as dream creation fodder for your brain. Two seconds ago will, sadly, go down in the history books for my brain. I stare blankly down at my uncle as he gasps through his last breaths, real fear written across his wrinkled face. I should feel bad—after all, I just took a life—but I don’t. Instead, my normal anxiety just starts to ramp up.
When that last sparkle of life disappears from his eyes… it hits me what I’ve done. Holy shit. I just killed my uncle, a sitting US senator. Oh my god. What have I done? I’m going to end up in prison. Reid will have no one. I’m not going to last a day in prison. There are so many germs there, so many things that’ll trigger my obsessive need to clean, tobeclean, tonotget sick. I’m going to catch some strange disease they’venever heard of, and then I’m going to get cancer again, and Reid will be left all alone in the world and?—
“Mason.” A voice interrupts my spiral.
Gasping for air, heart racing out of my chest, I tear my gaze from my dead uncle to find Parker standing a few steps away from me.
“Parker?” I ask, my voice distant to my own ears.
