TWENTY-TWO
Jared
Buzzing filled the confines of the small room, the vibration of the gun an oppressive weight. I struggled for air. A slow blaze lit along the surface of my skin, the burn of the needle branding my chest. I was f*cking gritting my teeth, my hands clenched into the tightest fists, my heart racing.
I always knew she’d be another mark. Another scar. Another sin to add to the insurmountable others.
“You doin’ okay, man?” The tattoo artist pulled away from the job, looking up at me in twisted concern, like maybe I was the biggest p-ssy to ever step through his door.
The guy had me pegged. I was in pain. But not the kind of pain he was faulting me for. This hurt in the f*cking darkest place of my spirit, where the obscene consorted with the vile.
“Yep. Perfect,” I forced out, my nails digging into the palms of my hands.
The guy wiped up some of the blood and ink with a paper towel, then leaned in close to color more. “Just about finished here.”
I nodded, but was unable to say anything while I submitted to the abuse the memories of her face inflicted on my already defeated mind. It was already November. More than two months had passed since I left her begging my name, since I fully laid it all to waste, since I swung the final blow.
The greatest lie I’d ever told had been told to Aly.
Yeah, I’d walked away, but there wasn’t a chance in this godforsaken world that I could forget about her.
That girl was unforgettable.
F*cking perfect. Too bright to fully see.
So I’d done my best at blocking her out. The days had blurred and bled, slowed and sped in an unending spiral of city lights and drugs and alcohol. I’d filled my body with just about anything I could find, searching for something to take away the ache she had left behind. But there was no high that could reach the bottom of this low. Nothing came close to touching it. Nothing dimmed or dulled it. Nothing could erase it. It was like this cancer that ate and fed, rotted and decayed.
Memories of her had only intensified the void that her touch had somehow managed to fill. Even if it were only for a time, she had, and maybe that’s what stung the most. I’d been foolish enough to think I’d treasure those memories, as if I’d find some sort of comfort in them once I was gone. Now I’d give anything to take them away. Because I couldn’t f*cking stand knowing she might be hurting like me.
There wasn’t a second that went by that I didn’t think of her, that I didn’t regret the fact that I had skimmed and touched and taken, not a second that passed that I wasn’t wishing that I could take a little bit more.
Yeah, I was one sadistic masochist.
“This looks really cool. Wasn’t sure this was going to blend in with that other tat, but it came out good.”
I said nothing, just tensed and ground my teeth while he seared her to me.
When the guy finished, he cleaned and covered it. “You’re all set. Take that off and wash it in a couple of hours.”
“Yeah, I got it.”
I paid him, left a hefty tip because I figured he deserved one after having to deal with my squirming ass the entire time I’d sat in his chair.
A chime jingled overhead as I stepped out onto the sidewalk. Night lay low against the backdrop of the lurid street.
Vegas, baby.
Dark laughter rumbled deep in my throat as I shoved my fists in the pockets of my jeans. People flocked here to seek its pleasures, to indulge and gratify. But this… this was what they didn’t want to see, what they didn’t want to acknowledge, the seedy and the slum, the addiction and poverty that abounded on the outer streets, tucked just out of sight.
Why the f*ck I’d come here, I didn’t know. I’d intended to return to Jersey, but I ended up in the shittiest motel on Fremont Street. It was like I couldn’t physically force myself to go that far, couldn’t stand the thought of placing so much distance between us that it would seem as if our worlds didn’t even meet.
I scoffed.
They never had.
All of it had been the fantasy. All of it the girl. As if I could have ever been enough. As if I could ever stay.
The only reality that remained was the spoils of what I’d taken.
I strode down the sidewalk, ducking my head between my hunched shoulders, doing my best to avoid all the stares, the taunts, and the pleas. It was impossible. Voices swarmed, filled my ears, fueling this foreboding that fried every last one of my nerves. I was on the f*cking edge. I knew it.
If there was any way to end it, I would. But fate was never my friend. No doubt, it’d intervene and once again condemn me to live out this life.
I just didn’t know how to endure as I paid out this debt.
I headed down the wrong street I’d been down every night. When I got here, it’d taken me about an hour to figure this shit out. All I’d had to do was look for the right dead end.
Tonight, Keith was exactly where I knew I would find him.
I bought a bag, balled the poison up in my fist, and crammed it back down deep in my pocket, f*cking hating myself more than I ever had.
The easy way out.
I knew I didn’t get the easy way out. I’d accepted that the day they sent me away. There was no escape from this truth. Even if I touched on oblivion, reality always came back. Still I tried. I f*cking tried because I couldn’t do anything but run from the pictures of Aly’s face that constantly assaulted my mind. The sick part was how badly I wanted to hang on to them, too, the way she’d made me actually feel, as if I were almost alive.
I jogged across the street toward the dump that I called home. The red VACANCY sign flashed near the front of the destitute lot, like this eternal beacon for the damned, because I couldn’t imagine a soul saved in this infernal place.
Hell.
No question, that’s where I’d found myself.
I let myself into the isolation of the motel room. I flipped the light switch. A dull bulb blinked to life in the corner of the room, illuminating the hollow space.
Never before had I felt so alone.
Wandering in, I let the door latch shut behind me, rubbing a hand down my face and over my jaw.
I looked around.
God, I missed her more than I had any right to.
Slowly, I crossed the room. Springs squeaked as I sat down on the edge of the worn-out bed. Grabbing the half-empty bottle of Jack from the floor by the neck, I unscrewed the cap and lifted it to my lips. Welcomed the burn. Wanted it. I lifted it again and again, swallowing down the fuel that fed the fire that continuously raged.
How much time passed while I sat there, I didn’t know. Time no longer mattered. Numbness crawled out along my limbs, not enough to erase, just enough to distort, to cloud the f*cking unbearable ache that had bound itself to my heart and mind.
My head spun and the bag burned in my pocket.
Climbing to my feet, I stumbled toward the dingy porcelain sink mounted against the far wall. I pulled my shirt over my head and worked loose the bandage from my chest. Heavily, I leaned on the sink, staring at myself in the mirror, unable to look away from the eyes staring back.
Sickness seethed in the pit of my stomach, stretching out, clawing at my insides, which seemed to be fighting for a way out of this body, like they, too, wished for an escape. I pulled the bag from my pocket. Sweat beaded up on my forehead, hatred pouring free.
I clenched my hand around it, knowing it wasn’t the drug, but Aly that had a hold on me.
Motherf*cking trigger.
It burned against my flesh, and I squeezed it tighter, felt the anxiety wind me tight. Every damned day, it was this way. I was like this f*cking disaster because I didn’t want anything but to be free, but there was no freedom for the condemned.
And I hated.
I hated.
I hated.
I slammed my fist into the mirror, shattering it into a million pieces. “F*ck!” I roared, the sound bouncing off the walls.
I don’t want this.
The mirror rained down, shards of glass splintering as they fell, crashing down into the sink, pinging as they skittered across the floor. The skin on my knuckles gave, splaying wide. Blood seeped forward. And I could feel it, the snap as I finally slipped over the edge I’d been teetering on for so long. My fists met the wall and remnants of the mirror again and again as if I could beat this need out of me. The bag was crushed so tightly in my hand it was as if the force alone would cause it to disintegrate. Evaporate. Cease to exist.
Or maybe I would.
There was no pain, just the fury that had taken me whole for the last six years.
And I was panting, reeling, gasping.
F*cking lost.
“Shit.” I clutched my head in my bloodied hands and the bag fell to the floor, my eyes frantic as they darted around the confines of the suffocating room. That feeling of confinement only escalated the anxiety that gripped me tight, provoking the rage inside. I choked, couldn’t breathe.
I couldn’t do this anymore.
Snatching my shirt from the floor, I dragged it back over my head, fumbled around for my keys, and ran out into the night. Tonight the darkness was thick, no moon in the sky, just the echoes of distant revelry. My bike gleamed like this flagrant symbol of escape just outside my door. I kicked it over and flew from the lot, pegged the throttle as I took the bike to the road.
The cool fall air beat furiously at my face, the rumble of my bike vibrating in my ears. I sped through the streets, lost myself in the frenzy, gave in to the need to escape even when I knew I never could. I had no idea where I was going because I had no place to go. This… this was my fate because I had no right to be in this world.
The lights thinned out around me as I consumed the road, and the city grew dim as I left it behind. I hit the open desert, the glare of my headlight splaying out across the pavement. My hand was f*cking shaking as I pinned the throttle as far as it would go.
I hated.
God, I hated.
I forced it faster, this rage inside me spurring me forward, pressing me harder. There was nothing for me in this city.
Nothing for me anywhere.
That emotion brimmed to the edges of me, heavy and thick, my chest tight with that f*cking rock that would forever be lodged just at the base of my throat. I leaned into the curves and welcomed the air that pelted and whipped, the chill that stung, welcomed the anger and the hate and the anxiety that were my constant companions.
They were the only steady I knew. The only things I could count on.
I shouted into the driving wind, cast my fury at the nothingness because that was exactly what I was.
Ahead, the road curved to the left. Sharper than I thought. I took it hard, and I felt the quiver of the bike. I fought against the wobble of the handlebars, fought to conquer the shot of instability that rolled through the length of the bike. I righted it and struggled to focus on the blurring road. I blinked hard, trying to clear the fog from my mind.
An abrupt right came up fast. So fast.
“F*ck” fell silently from my mouth, maybe as a plea as I flew into the turn. I leaned and braked hard, everything shaking before I felt the back tire begin to skid. Then the front wheel caught.
And I was flying.
Weightless.
A long time ago I’d lost control. I’d lost it the moment I’d given in to carelessness, when I’d taken the most important thing in this world and set it aside while I strove for the trivial.
Darkness surrounded me, gutted me, wrapped me inside out. And it was quiet. So f*cking quiet, nothing but my mother’s face filling up the bleakness that devastated my heart and mind. For a moment, I thought maybe I could feel her running her fingers through my hair, like she’d always done when I was a little boy, thought I could hear her soft, gentle voice whispering in my ear, thought I saw her looking at me like I was the light… when in reality she’d been mine.
I missed her. God, I missed her so much and it hurt and I wanted her to know it was the greatest mistake I’d ever made.
She shifted and faded, giving way to the girl. And Aly was looking at me exactly the same way, like maybe I was her light in the same way she’d unwittingly become mine.
My eyes went wide as I felt the ground rush up.
It was Aly.
Aly.
Aleena.
And for the first time since the day I turned sixteen, I didn’t want to die.