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"We were thinking of crashing there," Nixon hedged, feeling me out.
I was really never left alone. Sure, some nights one or two of the guys would find a girl and go home with her, but someone was always back at the crash pad with me.
But in this case, the crash pad was in the middle of nowhere, and there wasn't a bar for almost forty-five minutes, in the closest town. And they all wanted to let off some steam, so none of them would be able to drive.
"That's fine," I insisted, shrugging. "I'm perfectly safe in this house. And don't worry," I said, giving them a teasing smile for thinking I was so helpless that I couldn't spend one night on my own, "I will make sure I lock the doors and check the windows before I go to bed."
"If you're sure," Atlas hedged.
"Oh my God, I'm twenty-seven years old, guys. Stop treating me like a seventeen-year-old. Actually, if I remember correctly, at seventeen, I put myself to sleep many-a-nights since you guys were all out hamming it up and Mom was working."
"Fair enough," Nixon agreed. "Need us to bring anything back tomorrow?"
I don't know what possessed me to say it, but I did. "Yeah, can you pick me up a pot and rooting hormone."
"Ah... what?" King asked as we pulled up to the house. "A pot for planting something in and a little container of a rooting hormone. Any brand. Stop looking at me like I cracked," I said, rolling my eyes. "I really like this place. I've found some... peace here. And I am going to take a clipping from here and root it to keep with me. So get me a pot and rooting hormone. Geez." I grabbed the bag they passed at me, knowing part of my job for the night would be to burn everything we used in the robbery, then climbed out. "Have a good time, guys," I said, and I truly meant it.
I wanted them to have a good time.
And I was going to enjoy my solitude while it lasted.
Maybe I would download a language app on my phone and try my hand at Russian and Chinese, see which one was easier for me to pick up.
I was determined to keep my mind toward the future, to not dwell on the past, to stop thinking about all the things I might have missed out on or left behind. It was better for myself and everyone around me if I started pinning my hopes on the possibilities of the future instead of the memories of the past.
So I watched my brothers pull away. I got a fire roaring. I slowly loaded in all the clothes and wigs and even the bags themselves. Then I took myself to the bathroom, took a shower that went on forever because no one started slamming on the door telling me to hurry the fuck up because they needed to get in. I dressed in one of King's tees that swam on me and a pair of pajama shorts, then curled up on the couch with a gardening book I found on a shelf in the living room.
A quiet night at home.
I wondered if my future had more of those in store for me.
Just when the words started to swim on the page, I heard a tap tap tapping noise coming from the front door.
And all those assurances I fed my brothers about being able to be home alone, that I wasn't scared of anything, that I could handle myself, kind of flew out of my mind momentarily as panic flooded my system.
I pulled myself quietly off the couch, moving toward the kitchen where one of the guns were situated, loaded with rubber bullets. They might not kill someone, but they would hurt them enough for me to get the chance to beat the ever-loving-shit out of them.
And then... I don't know.
I would figure that out as I went.
I made my way to the front door, forcing myself to take a slow, deep breath before reaching for the handle, completely at a loss for what could be causing that sound.
Then I yanked the door open.
And I nearly emptied the gun into him in pure and utter shock.
Mark Mallick was on my doorstep.
With my little silky black chicken in his hands.
And I realized that was the source of the tapping- his little beak on the wood.
Before I could effectively choke on my own damn tongue, his head dipped to the side slightly, his light eyes intense.
"When the fuck is enough going to be enough for you, baby?"TENScottiOkay.
Alright.
Yeah.
Mark Mallick was at my doorstep.
Holding my chicken buddy.
And he was mad at me.
Truly, I never thought I would see his face again. I never thought I would hear his voice after the last voicemail I listened to fifteen times before I finally had to destroy the burner like we always did.
