Torture to Her Soul(110)

"Your mother wasn't innocent."

"She's not innocent? None of us are innocent! My mother made mistakes, my mother wasn't perfect, but she was my mother! She was my… my mom… she was my mom. You killed her, you took her from me, and all you can say is she wasn't innocent? What's wrong with you?"

Too much, I think.

Way too much for either of us to ever understand.

"Tell me this is a sick joke," she continues, pleading with me, her emotions shifting so quickly I can hardly keep up. "Tell me this isn't real. Tell me she's not dead. You told me if I went with you that day, if I didn't wake her up, you'd let her live. And I did… I went with you. I've stayed with you. I did everything I could to save her. I wanted her to live. I even turned her into the police! Tell me that wasn't for nothing. Please. Tell me she isn't really dead!"

Her words make that guilt consume me, turning my insides to ice, freezing my muscles as I stare at the trembling mess of a woman in front of me. Is that why she stayed with me? Why she opened herself back up to me? Was it just to save her mother?

Was it never about me? About us?

The questions Ping-Pong around in my head, fueling bitter thoughts that nearly fly from my lips. The sense of betrayal is so frigid I'm afraid those answers might make me break, snap right in half like an icicle.

"Please," she whispers, wrapping her arms around her chest like she's trying to hold herself together. "Tell me this isn't real."

Sighing, my gaze drops from hers. "I'm sorry."

Before the last syllable is from my lips, Karissa hits the floor, her legs giving out on her. Her cries shake the room, rattling my fucking brain. Closing my eyes, I run my hands through my hair, gripping handfuls and pulling, trying to distract myself with the pain. Tears sting my eyes, tears I don't want to cry, tears I don't want to feel. I don't want it. I don't want any of this.

I wanted justice.

All I got was more heartbreak.

They say when seeking revenge, dig two graves, one for you and one for them. I've buried them all, disposed of bodies and left a trail of charred remains in my wake, and now all that's left is my own grave. And I dug it, all right… dug it so deep there's no fucking way out of it.

No way out of it, and I'm seconds away from dragging a woman I love into it with me yet again.

"Go." The word is from my lips without a second thought. I can't give it a second thought or the selfish monster inside of me will stop it, with stop this moment of weakness. "Go. Now. Before I can't let you go again."

"What?"

Her voice is tear-filled and full of confusion. I open my eyes, looking at her. The sight of her distress hurts.

I have to look back away.

"Leave, if you want. If you want out, go. I won't come after you."

"You won't?"

I try not to be hurt by the hope I hear in her question.

Try, and fail.

It fucking hurts.

"I won't," I say. "If you want to leave, I'll let you leave."

She stares at me, expression blank, as she tries to come to terms with what I'm saying.

"I don't want you to," I tell her, the words spilling out of me, a hitch in my voice. I've never felt so vulnerable in my life, cracking myself open for her. "Letting go of you will kill me. So I'm asking you to stay… to stay with me. It's my turn to ask you to stay this time. But it's up to you. I can't make this choice. You're going to have to make it. Stay or go."

She slowly pulls herself to her feet and takes a step back. One step. That's all it takes. My insides break.

"Don't ever come back," I tell her. "Never come around here again. You walk out that door, Karissa, for both of our sakes, you can never come back here."

She hesitates.

One.

Two.

Three seconds.

And then she turns around.

I close my eyes again. I don't watch as she leaves. I can't.

As soon as she's out the door, those tears burning my eyes break free.

I cry for the first time in twenty years.

So this is grief…





Cobalt is quiet this afternoon.

Kelvin stands watch at the door, as usual, back to averting his eyes as I walk past. I ignore him, strolling through the club, straight toward where Ray sits with a few others. They all look up as I approach, silence befalling them. The man sitting to Ray's left vacates the leather seat, no words necessary. I sit down wordlessly, my expression stoic.

"Gentlemen," Ray says, clearing his throat. "Why don't you give me some time with my son-in-law."

So many years later and he still calls me that.

It makes us family, more family than these other schmucks, but that doesn't make much of a difference at the end of the day.

He'd fuck me over worse than the others, if anything.

He already has.