Talking Dirty(13)

I don’t need to ask him if he remembers me. He’s made it painfully clear that he does. And I wonder how his memories differ from mine. He saw it all. He did it all. He was there to watch the life drain from my girlfriend’s beautiful eyes.

And, God, she was so full of life.

“How long did it take?” I ask. My voice startles me. Hoarse with emotion. Gruff with restrained anger. Laced with more pain than one man should bear.

Morrison stares back at me, the tears falling in fat drops. They slide down his cheeks and fold around his chin. His bottom lip quivers. His chest continues to tremble. But he doesn’t answer me.

“How long did it take her to die?”

His mouth opens. He tries to tell me, but all that comes out is another sob. With a calm I do not feel, I reach back blindly, and close the door. And then I grab his shirt in my fists, shoving him against the wall of his own home.

I bet he thought he was safe here.

“How. Long.”

He sucks in a breath and wipes at his eyes, never once trying to free himself of my grip. “It was quick,” he croaks.

I release him and we both stumble away from one another. The blow never gets any easier. Never.

“I’m sorry,” he weeps. “I’m so sorry. I hate myself every day for what we did. For what I did. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

He presses his back into the wall and slides to the floor. His head drops once again, his disheveled hair falling into his eyes and covering his face.

“If you’re so sorry, then why haven’t you turned yourself in? Why aren’t you rotting in a prison cell? Why are your friends still walking around free?”

“I couldn’t. I’ve thought about it so many times, if for no other reason than to set myself free. To repent. Every time I imagined my parents’ faces, I couldn’t bring myself to do it.”

“Maybe you should have pictured your parents’ faces before you raped and murdered my girlfriend,” I hiss.

“It’s no excuse,” he says, his voice a ruff whisper, “but I wasn’t myself back then. I was fucked up. High on meth. I didn’t care about anything or anyone.” He lifts his head, his gaze landing on mine. I don’t hold it. I can’t.

I squeeze the knife in my hand.

“I’m clean now. I’m not that same person.”

I shake my head. I don’t want excuses. I don’t want to hear how hard this has been on him or how much he’s changed. I don’t give a shit if he does or doesn’t destroy himself with chemicals.

I just don’t care. It doesn’t bring her back. What’s done is done. And now he has to pay for it.

“I wish I could tell you it was because of her that I got better.”

My head pops up and I glare at him. I’m going to kill him.

I’m going to kill him.

I’m going to—

“But it was another girl. So similar to Olivia.”

“Don’t you say her name,” I snarl. My other hand curls into a tight fist. The one clasping the knife begins to throb.

Morrison keeps going as if he doesn’t hear me. As if I’m not even here anymore. “We didn’t plan it. We saw you and O—your girlfriend walking out of the movie theater. Carter, he was talking about it like it was a joke. About wanting a piece of her. He said we should go around the block and cut you off. Just mess with you. It wasn’t supposed to go as far as it did. We were drunk. I was high. I…I had never done anything like that before.”

I swallow, forcing the bile back down my throat. All this time I thought we just happened upon these men. He says there wasn’t a plan, but they intentionally cut us off. They were waiting for us.

Why? Why didn’t I insist on going straight back to campus?

Why?

A groan erupts inside of my chest. It hurts. Fuck, it hurts so much.

Why?

I always thought there was some reason for their attack. I knew deep down there’s never a reason for such senseless brutality. But I just kept allowing myself to believe that one day, one of these men would shed some light as to why something like this happens. Why they chose us. Why they had to kill her.

Why her?

This is all I get. Drunk. High. Joking around. Didn’t mean it. They wanted a piece of my girlfriend like they were entitled to it.

But they didn’t take a piece. They took it all.

I can’t find the punch line in this joke.

My eyes burn as my vision blurs with moisture.

It’s so senseless. Why did her life mean so little?

She was everything to me. My reason for everything I did. She was my every thought. My every action. It was all wrapped around her. I busted my ass in high school, getting good grades and I went on to college to make sure I could get a good job to provide for us. I worked after school, flipping burgers for years so I could buy a car just so I could take her places. I kept working so I had money for dates and anniversary presents. And then, when she followed me to college, I took a second job so I could buy her an engagement ring and someday make her my wife.