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ChapterOne
Gideon
Confucius once said, “Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves.”
A wise sentiment, and for most people, probably true.
Revenge was a dangerous business, even under the most noble of reasons. If you hoped to rain vengeance down on another, you’d better be prepared to pay the ultimate price —your life.
But that was the problem with Confucius’ warning.
For those of us who had been wronged in such a deplorable, egregious way, we’d already paid the ultimate price.
We were already dead.
At least,Iwas.
I may draw breath. My heart may beat. The neurons in my brain may fire.
For all intents and purposes, I died five years ago.
And now I would make those responsible suffer the same torment I’d endured since that fateful day.
I would have my revenge, even if it was the last thing I did, to hell with Confucius’ warnings.
Revenge was why I was here. Why I’d spent the past year of my life becoming someone else. To make them feel my pain. My betrayal.
My anger.
I thought it would get easier as time went by.
After all, I’d survived. Shouldn’t I have been content with that? Shouldn’t I have found solace in the gift of life when I should have died a hundred times over?
Therein lay the problem.
I no longer viewed life as a gift, but as a cruel curse. Each day was a slow descent into agony as I was left to rot in a hellish purgatory, praying for salvation or damnation.
While I was forced to suffer excruciating pain, they all carried on with their lives, forgetting about me as quickly as if I’d never existed.
As if we hadn’t made promises to each other, only for her to break them the instant I was gone.
At one point, she was my world. I thought I was hers.
How long did she wait before finding comfort in another man’s arms? In mytraitor’sarms?
A year? A month?
A week?
The mere thought of it turned my blood hot, my chest squeezing at how truly insignificant I was. The newspaper I held crinkled in my hands, images of fists and blood flashing before my eyes, as so often happened whenever I thought about the hell I’d endured.
“Are you doing okay? Can I get you any more coffee?”
A cheerful voice yanked me out of my memories, and I snapped my attention to the barista of the coffee shop I’d been coming to every morning since moving to San Diego a few weeks ago.
All becauseshedid.
I hadn’t approached her yet. Hadn’t even been within a few feet of her.
