I don’t even realize the music has ended because I’m torn between right and wrong. But this is done. Over. There isn’t a hero in me. And that’s what someone like Tiger deserves.
Like a butterfly, she is so beautiful, but all I want to do is tear off her wings.
With that as my driving force, I turn my cheek, severing our connection. Tiger reads my retreat loud and clear, even though she’s confused. But that’s not my problem. I go to stand, forcing her to do the same.
“Thanks for the dance.” Unable to help myself, I slowly rub my thumb across her supple lips, smudging her lipstick across her mouth—the mouth I just fucking owned. Seeing her disheveled is a shot of heroin to a fiend like me.
The tremble to her lips reveals her nerves, which just confirms what I need to do.
“I’ll catch ya round, darlin’.”
She appears to want to say something, but soon changes her mind. She simply nods and nervously walks over to where she dropped her dress, turning her back so she can slip it on.
There is no room for small talk because I don’t engage in pretenses. This is me. A coldhearted bastard. A depraved animal. My story doesn’t end with Prince Charming saving the princess and living happily ever after with her because…I killed the fucking prince.
Bull
“Morning, bright eyes. You sleep okay?”
“I did. Thanks, Venus,” I reply, looking over from the tattered town map taped to the wall.
Venus is dressed in a pink jumpsuit with a matching pink wig. The silk scarf she wears does a poor job to hide her Adam’s apple. I don’t know why she bothers with it. She needs to own her shit. But I suppose Detroit is unforgiving to misfits like us.
“Do you know if the bus still drives past Oakland Road?” I ask, tracing my finger down a blue line that runs through the middle of town.
“If I recall correctly, yes, it does. You going to take the bus?”
“Yeah. I was thinking about it.”
“You don’t have a car?”
I shake my head and meet her eyes. “I don’t have a license.”
She pulls back, shocked. “How old were you when you got locked up?”
I rub the back of my neck. “Just turned eighteen.”
Pity flashes over her. “Oh, I’m real sorry to hear that.”
She has nothing to be sorry for. And she better stop looking at me with pity in her eyes. “Don’t be. Jail was probably the best place for me.”
She leans on the counter, listening intently. “Whatcha get done for?”
And there it is. The dreaded question.
I have to get used to saying it, so I may as well start now. “Murder,” I reveal frankly, watching her face drop.
I also better start getting used to that look.
She clears her throat after a few uncomfortable seconds. “Well, if anyone deserves a second chance, it’s you.”
She catches me off guard with that unexpected reply. But she doesn’t know me. And if she knew my story, and what I’m planning to do, she wouldn’t be so quick with the touchy-feely crap.
“I’ll be back later.” I zip up my leather jacket. “I got a job.”
“Oh, yeah? Where?”
“The Pink Oyster.”
She grins, rocking back on her stool. “The ladies just can’t keep away from you, can they?”
My lips twitch in a resemblance of a smile.
It’s another cold as fuck morning, so I slip the gray beanie over my head and walk the mile to the bus stop. Thankfully, I don’t have to wait long. It’s funny because although I haven’t been on a bus in a very long time, the sights, sounds, and smells are exactly the same.
I close my eyes, recalling the last time. It was with my brother, Damian, on the night of the big game. He could have driven with friends, but he wanted to ride with me.
“C’mon, squirt. It’ll be fun.”
“I don’t even like football.”
Damian laughed. “You will when you see the cheerleaders.”
Scrunching up my face, I replied, “Gross. Girls are weird.”
“That’s ’cause you just turned fifteen. Give it a couple of years, and they’ll be anything but gross.” He messed up my hair as we pulled up at our school for the big game.
“I doubt it.”
“Trust me, squirt. You’ll change your mind.”
He picked up his gym bag and helmet. My brother, the quarterback.
My eyes snap open when the bus comes to a slow stop. Rubbing the sleep away, I see that I’m a block away from where I want to be. Nothing has changed. It’s just as I remember it and still as depressing as the day I was last here.
A light layer of frost covers the foliage, and even the flowers are wilting in the harsh autumn. It appears every living thing wants to forget it exists in here.
The grass crunches underneath my shoes as a light drizzle begins to fall. But I don’t let the weather deter me from doing something I’ve wanted to do for years. My memory serves me well, and I walk on autopilot to the last grave in a row that replicates the ones before and after it. But this row is special.
It’s special because it holds the grave of my brother.
“Hey, Damian.” I drop to a squat.
Dried flowers sit by his headstone, and I instantly kick myself for not bringing him fresh ones. “I’m out. Twelve years pale in comparison to a lifetime of hell you’ve endured because of me.
“I haven’t heard from Mom and Dad in over nine years. Not that I can blame them, though, because I told them to stay away. If only it was me and not you, things would have been better for everyone. If only I’d gone straight home after the game, things would have been so different. For starters, you’d be alive.”
Sighing, I cast my eyes downward, ashamed. “I’m sorry, bro. I’m the reason you’re…dead. I’ll never forgive myself for what I did.
“You saved me—literally, and in turn, you died because you’re a fucking hero. You sacrificed your life to save me. But my life wasn’t worth the sacrifice. It never was.
“But I won’t let your death be in vain. I promise,” I vow, clutching the pendant around my neck. It once belonged to Damian. His good luck charm.
This is the only place I’ll allow myself to grieve. Allow myself the penance I don’t deserve.
“I’m sorry it was you. If I could trade places, I would in a heartbeat. You were always the good one, and I…” I pause, peering down at the pocket watch tattooed on the back of my hand. “I was always waiting for something better to come along. I wish I realized that something better was you.”
Kissing my middle and pointer fingers, I place them on Damian’s marble headstone, before coming to a slow stand. “They will pay. Every one of them. And when they do…we’ll meet again. Rest in peace, brother. I love you.”
Damian is the only person who I ever told I loved. I didn’t even say it to my parents. But with him, we weren’t just brothers; we were best friends. I looked up to him—fuck, everyone did. Everyone wanted to be friends with him. There was something special about him, something everyone wanted to be a part of.
That something special was taken away the night he was murdered…thanks to me.