Page 52 of Volatile Waters

“I can.”

After more thought, I decided, “For now… I will leave your son be.”

I can’t be sure, but I may have heard a sob from Mr. Jones before he asked, “Marina?”

“She is thought to be dead.”

Another strangled noise of emotion escaped Mr. Jones before he timidly asked, “Whitney?”

“She will not fare as well.” I debated how much to say. “Her father has made it clear he is not protecting her. Quite the opposite, unfortunately for her. But don’t fear. Crash is taking care of it.”

Regrettably, Crash had come up empty-handed, night after night, so it was time for a profound statement. My father was starting to lean in favor of Whitney’s death. His thought process was “no girl, no problem.” Since I was far too infatuated with an unrealistic notion between Whitney and myself, death was yet an option I was prepared to consider. I had to get creative to buy me more time. So, when the perfect moment presented itself, Whitney was to take the hit.

The blow was profound.

For her… and for me.

It was eerie to feel your vehicle run over a part of a body, one so small and defenseless. Kirill laughed as he sped us away. In the back seat, I vomited in my mouth then swallowed it, never letting my comrades know of my weakness. They couldn’t know that I had single-handedly snuffed out the fire I so yearned to witness, with the hope it would save her life.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Whitney’s mother finally acted as a mother should after the extensive surgery on the dancer’s foot. I told myself the crutches and pins sticking out of her ankle and foot weren’t the end of her dancing career. I told myself many lies. I even told myself Crash didn’t deserve to be Whitney’s first. It was actually my fault. I had accidentally provoked him when in his father’s den.

He had overheard a part of a conversation not meant for his ears. “Dad, don’t do this.”

Harold, aging by the day, snarled, “Do not start with me again. I don’t give a shit about your feelings. This girl has been nothing but trouble since she entered my life.”

Crash screamed, “Yury will sell her!”

His father stood from the couch and screamed in return, “Good riddance! At least someone is going to get something good out of her!”

“You don’t understand, Dad! I was there! I saw what they do to these girls—”

Quite efficiently, Harold practically flew toward his son. Face to face, he sneered, “I was there, too. Where do you think I was when your brother was shot?”

Crash lost all color in his face. I don’t think it was the harsh comment that made him appear ill. It was the realization that his father was so willing to disregard a young life into my care, even when knowing her fate would be nothing but doomed.

The young drug dealer nodded with a gaping mouth while backing away. “Okay, Dad. You’re right. It’s probably for the best.”

Crash seemed incapable of ever giving up a fight until he was sure the battle was lost. So, I should’ve known, should’ve seen what was coming. But I was Yury. I felt I didn’t need to explain myself or my actions to anyone, except my father. Therefore, I didn’t tell Crash that he was mistaken, that I had not made up my mind on what path to take with Whitney. Had I been the wiser, maybe I could’ve stopped the upcoming earthquake.

I didn’t know Whitney’s mother had already left the half-crippled girl to fend for herself and returned to her husband in California. But Crash knew. He watched that girl’s every move and not only slipped into her heart but between her virgin thighs.

I had yet to dream of sex with Whitney, only her dancing, but now that Crash had taken something that I saw to have extreme value, something in me snapped. I seethed at the sight of Crash holding Little Treasure in her place of rest. Standing on her bedroom porch, I once again found myself on the outside of her world. A place I was quickly tiring of being.

Someone had to pay for my discomfort.

As Crash kissed the forehead of the sleeping dancer, my decision was made.

Him.

Witnessing his sincere affections toward Whitney, I knew just how to capture him.