“Why do you think Hannah killed herself?”
“Like she said in the letter, she was sick of the intolerance of this world. It wasn’t about that guy, Paul. It was a culmination of fifty-four years of suffering. I understood why she did it; not sure if that makes me as frustrated with the world as she was. But I’ve been suicidal before. When she met me, I was prepared to kill myself, but I was too much of a coward.” I sighed. “I even understood why she cut off her own penis. All her life she had one desire, to be a woman. She always identified with being female, and she stood up for what she believed.”
“Do you feel like you’ve gotten over her death?”
I stared at Marcella with disbelief. “Does it look like I’ve gotten over it?”
“What I mean is, does it disturb you all the time, or are you in this current state because we were discussing it?”
“I’ve always recognized that I can’t change what other people think or do. I’m sure that there was nothing I could’ve done to change the outcome of what happened. If she didn’t do it in Paris, it would’ve only been a matter of time. It was clear that it wasn’t something that had popped in her head that day, or even that week. She picked a moment and left me a note explaining why. I’m glad she did that. Otherwise, I would’ve always wondered.”
“Did you carry out her last wish?” Marcella asked.
“Yes. Daddy came to Paris and arranged to bring her body back to New York for burial. We left her . . . we left it at the medical examiner’s office in Paris. The unbelievable part is that her mother attended her funeral. First and last time I ever met her. She mourned over Hannah like they had never been apart. I was stunned, and so were her friends who attended.”
“I actually recall reading about this in the news back then. How your traveling companion had committed suicide when you were on tour, but there were not many details.”
“And there never will be,” I said, staring at her. “I don’t want her to be embarrassed posthumously.”
“Her self-mutilation goes no further than here. That I promise you.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that.”
“Your privacy goes without saying. Can I ask what she meant about your friends hurting you?”
“That goes back to why I’m here in Atlanta.” I stood up. “In fact, I need to be somewhere.”
“I don’t want to press the issue, but I hope you’re not planning to hurt anyone today.”
“Not in the physical sense, no. I admit that I am extremely angry with several people here in Georgia, but I’m not willing to get locked up behind them.”
“That’s good to know.”
“Thank you for your time, and enjoy the rest of your day.”
Marcella walked me out. Antonio and Diederik were sitting on the porch drinking spring water out the cooler in the SUV, and Kagiso was sitting by a tree meditating.
“Sorry I took so long, guys,” I said. “Told you to go get something to eat.”
Antonio chuckled. “I was about to go find a fast-food joint or something, for real. Anything but that diner.”
“Well, now we’re headed to that party, if it’s still going on.”
Kagiso had joined them by then. “Yes, it’s confirmed. Also, Nikki said she found a hot-ass spot for Wicket’s Thicket in Magic City.”
“Can’t wait to hear more about it.” I turned to Marcella. “Thanks again for everything.”
“You’re very welcome, Wicket. Have a nice time at the event.”
I could tell she was unnerved by the thought of me going someplace where people would be present that I couldn’t stand. What she didn’t realize is that I held all the cards and all the advantages. They all wanted something from me, and they didn’t even have a clue about who the fuck I really was!
PART THREE:
THE CHORUS
In its purest form, an act of retribution provides symmetry, the rendering of payment for crimes against the innocent, but the danger of retaliation lies in furthering the cycle of violence. Still, it’s a risk that must be met when the greater offense is to allow the guilty to go unpunished.
—Emily Thorne
Chapter Twelve
We stopped back by the house so that I could redo my makeup before the party. I didn’t believe in having a makeup artist all up in my grill for anything outside of photo shoots or performances. Daddy had paid a ton for me to be naturally beautiful, so it wasn’t that serious. However, I realized that people would be taking photos of me all evening at Bianca’s event and, quite frankly, I wanted them all to be pressed to even get next to me. It was all a part of the plan for Wicket, the Wicket, to attend the event of an opportunist in Atlanta was a big fucking deal.