She was a sweet girl. Typical story. Runaway. Abusive home. She’s too young for her life to be cut so short.
And I’ve taken it upon myself to do right by her.
Because who the hell else is going to?
I’d do it whether I knew her or not. Every day of the week and twice on Sundays. But when her friend told me what the john looked like, the game changed for me.
A crescent shaped scar above his lip, she’d said. I’d almost lost my shit, certain she was fucking with me somehow.
But no.
The more she described him, the more in my heart I knew it was true.
Alexander is in Boston.
I still don’t want to believe it. Even after everything that I know to be true. When you add two and two together, it always equals four. And the sky is fucking blue because it just is. And Alexander was bad, even if I never wanted to accept it. Even if I still don’t.
The stale soundtrack plays on inside my head.
He wouldn’t have been bad if it wasn’t for them.
It wasn’t his fault.
We all lie to ourselves, sometimes.
Because a lie is sweet, and the truth is often bitter. And I’ve never had a pill so bitter as Alexander fucking Carrington.
His back-story is as typical as it gets in the old world. Trust fund kid with daddy’s money. Prestigious schools and fast cars and soft hands because he never had to work a day in his life. That’s the world I grew up in. Those are the people I associated with. And now those are the people I hate more than anything.
I told myself he’d be last on my list. Because I couldn’t have myself doubting five years of meticulous planning.
One by one, I’ve watched the dominos fall.
Ethan’s affairs, exposed. Quinn’s empire crumbling before his eyes. Duke’s bitter realization that his longtime girlfriend had been fucking his brother all along. And Trip, well he was easy. I didn’t even have to set fire to his perfectly constructed world. He lit the match himself with his numerous addictions.
But Alexander is another story.
He’s the one I’ve held out for. The one I haven’t been able to find. It’s like he vanished into thin air after his father’s scandal.
I was beginning to lose all hope.
Until Kylie’s friend mentioned that crescent shaped scar on the john.
It can’t be him.
I still don’t believe it, and yet here I am, prowling the same bar for the fifth night in a row. I am powerless against it. The fixation has grown inside of me now, infecting my mind like poison.
I need to find him.
And I need to decide once and for all if this warpath I’m on is really that. If I’m willing to do battle and bloody myself up in pursuit of my revenge.
Until then, I will settle for the pawns. Like the one I’m now standing two feet away from. He only has to turn his head, and then he will notice me. Of that, I am confident.
Will he remember me?
I sit, and I wait. I flag down the bartender.
By the time he makes it down our way, dopey will be asking if he can buy me a drink.
