Scared of Beautiful

Chapter 30

 

 

 

 

Jackson

 

The last few days have been such a f-ucking blur. I struggle to recall where I’ve been and with who. There is something to be said for never allowing your body to sober up. I now get why Maia refused to feel anything; the numbness is very close to heaven. But the minute her name pops into my head, the drunken stupor I’m in sends me spiraling downwards. I’ve already had words with Emmanuel. Apparently. one must be sober to participate in major criminal activity. Who the f-uck knew, right? So, I have promised to stop drinking today, in order to be a model criminal tonight. I lay in my bed, remembering what Maia and I did here. My dick rises to attention of its own volition. Figures. Every time I have even attempted to speak to a woman since my encounter with the bartender, my brain forces me to get the f-uck away. It feels too much like I’m stepping out on Maia. My dick is angry about this. It just wants to act a fool.

 

At nine that night, Emmanuel pulls up at my house in a stolen Toyota, the license plates purposely muddied. I jump in the passenger seat as we make our way over to the underpass, to meet the hijacked armored van.

 

“Are you good?” Emmanuel asks me over the rap music, the bass thumping annoyingly strong. I nod once unconvincingly. Stupid question. I’m so sober, but there’s no way I’m f-ucking good. Not about this. Not about anything right now. We have at least an hour wait until the van arrives, so we settle in the car to do just that, wait. For once, Emmanuel doesn’t immediately light up a joint; he opts for a cigarette instead.

 

“You have to know how much I appreciate this, man,” Emmanuel says, trying to start a conversation.

 

“Appreciate it?” I scoff. “You f-ucking blackmailed me, man. You know I don’t want to be here.”

 

“Don’t matter how you got here, I needed someone I can trust,” he says blowing a plume of smoke through the cracked window.

 

“It matters to me,” I say dismissively, “so can you just drop it. Let’s run through this one more time so that none of us end up locked up.”

 

We dissect the plan for the robbery one more time, and when I’m satisfied that we have considered every angle, we discuss the getaway. I’m supposed to drive as soon as Emmanuel jumps in the car, leaving his contact, the other guard, to fabricate a description of the robbers. And then Emmanuel leaves me the f-uck alone.

 

The van pulls up at exactly 10:45 as planned, and comes to a stop next to us. From my seat I can see a large blood stain on the passenger window, which I can only assume are the contents of the innocent guard’s head. God help me, this shit feels so real all of a sudden. An anxious knot forms in my stomach. I may be rebellious, but this just feels so f-ucking wrong. Emmanuel springs into action as the other guard, a tall skinny black guy jumps out of the driver’s side door. They unlock and yank open the back doors, and shovel the bags of cash into a duffel bag. My hands twitch nervously on the steering wheel. Hurry up! I think anxiously.

 

Then something happens which was not in the plans, not in any of them. The worst sound I could ever imagine breaks the silence of the night. Sirens. Followed quickly by the glare of blue and red lights. Emmanuel hadn’t counted on this either, judging by how startled he looks as he glances towards me. In a flash, he turns his gun towards the guard and pulls the trigger, landing a shot straight through the guy’s heart. The contents of my stomach threaten to expel from my body as the guy slumps onto the ground next to the open doors. And then I get a sickening feeling. That guy and I, we’re witnesses. We knew the plan. If Emmanuel does get caught, he can spin a ridiculous story about us, as long as we are both not around to refute it. His eyes meet mine, and there’s regret, almost sadness about what will happen next. This was plan B, the plan that only he knew.

 

Maia’s face pops into my mind and I know that I have to get out of there. I’ll definitely never see her again if I’m dead. The sirens and lights are almost upon us as Emmanuel raises his gun in my direction. I jump out of my seat, turn, and run away from the car, towards the salvation of the lights and sirens. A gunshot rings through the night and I feel a searing pain in my right arm, just below my shoulder. I drop to the hard ground on my knees just as a police car skids to a halt between Emmanuel and I. The rest is a blur. I hear two more gunshots, the sound of screeching tires and one God almighty bang before I pass out on the gritty dirt. Loss of consciousness or death, at this point, I have no f-ucking clue. Everything goes black.

 

* * *

 

I open my eyes to a startlingly bright light and the monosyllabic drone of a machine beeping next to my head. Unless this is heaven, I presume my story isn’t over yet. A hand rests over mine and I hope that when I open my eyes, the hand belongs to Maia. But sadly for me, though just as sweet a sight, the hand belongs to Jade. Her head rests on the bed, next to our conjoined hands. I try not to wake her by moving, but as I try to readjust myself, a searing pain shoots through my right arm, causing me to jolt and grit my teeth. I try to use my left arm to prop myself up as Jade raises her head, but I realize that it is shackled to the hospital bed rail via a set of cold steel handcuffs. Jade eyes me with a mixture of anger, concern and sorrow.

 

She understands. We just stare at each other for a while. “If I wasn’t so worried about you almost being dead, I would probably kill you,” she says sternly. I prepare for the verbal assault. “What the hell were you thinking, Jackson? You could have been killed! You might still end up in jail! What the f-uck man?” Jade stands and walks over to the door.

 

“Where are you going?” I ask hoarsely.

 

“To get you some water!” she practically screams, and shuts the door.

 

I really did f-uck up good and proper this time. The nurse that comes in to give me my medication and check my vitals looks down at the handcuffs and immediately her attitude changes to one of contempt. She doesn’t need to say anything, and she doesn’t. We both know I’m scum. The Valium she gives me takes effect, and I fall asleep reliving the blood bath I had a hand in.

 

 

 

 

 

Jacqueline Abrahams's books