I had more important things to think about. Like what in the hell I was going to say to Birdie. She was going to kick my ass, and I was going to let her. Because I knew better. I was never criminally insane or whatever term they used. I knew what I was doing when I killed Chet. And I knew what I was doing when I killed Matthew. The difference was, after Chet’s death, Birdie asked me to tell her if I felt the urge to kill again, so she could talk me out of it. And I promised her I would. I betrayed the one person who stood by me unconditionally. But I did it to protect her. Because she would’ve helped me and taken the fall if we got caught. And clearly, I wasn’t good at not getting caught.
In my defense, I wasn’t thinking about the repercussions when I killed Chet and didn’t take any precautions or try to conceal my actions. With Matthew, I didn’t have much time to prepare. Even though I technically got away the first time, I didn’t finish the job, and I stabbed the wrong person. And obviously, I got caught when I did get the right one.
Maybe I do have impulse control and anger management issues.
The thought flickered to life for a few moments before I snuffed it out. Chet killed my mother because she loved his brother instead of him. Matthew planned to sell his six-year-old niece into human trafficking. Intense anger was a reasonable response to both scenarios. Murder might not have been deemed an acceptable response by most people, but most people were pussies.
“Why are you smiling?” Sugar asked.
Fuck.
Justifying and rationalizing my behaviors always made me feel better, but I didn’t mean to show it. I didn’t like that I’d become relaxed enough in his presence to self-soothe, let alone allow the thoughts and emotions necessary for soothing to happen in the first place.
I pretended to jolt awake and blearily asked, “What?”
“Why are you smiling?” he repeated.
“Didn’t know I was.”
He huffed and turned back to the television. I considered riling him up some more. It was more entertaining than it should have been to ruffle his feathers, and I had some time to kill.
At some pointduring the night, I fell asleep and woke up to sunlight filling the room, meaning hours had passed.
Birdie.
“Where’s Birdie?” I demanded.
Sugar snored in response.
“Hey, asshole!” I yelled.
Nothing.
I didn’t have time to wait for him to wake up. Something was wrong. Birdie should have been at the clubhouse well before sunrise, and she would have demanded to see me immediately.
I did the only two things I could do: I hopped the chair toward Sugar while screaming at the top of my lungs. My efforts were successful with bonus entertainment, though I was too upset to enjoy it.
It happened fast. Sugar jumped to his feet moments before Cookie barreled through the door. Confused and half asleep, Sugar threw a punch at Cookie, and Cookie responded by tackling Sugar. I didn’t see what happened after that because I hopped my ass toward the open door as fast as I could.
I didn’t make it far before Sugar grabbed my chair and stopped me. “What the fuck are you doing?” he yelled.
“Where’s Birdie?”
Sugar’s face flashed with worry. He tried to hide it, but not before I saw it.
“What happened?” I demanded. “Tell me what happened!”
Sugar glanced at Cookie before his eyes returned to mine. “When Coochie got to Birdie’s, it was raining harder there and had been for a while. They thought it was best to spend the night at her place and drive back this morning.”
I didn’t believe him for one second. Birdie would’ve insisted on speaking with me once Coochie told her what was going on. “Can you call her?” I asked, hoping I sounded less worried than I was. “I want to make sure she’s okay.”
“We already—” Sugar said, but Cookie interrupted him.
“I’ll call Coochie.” He tapped the screen of his phone before bringing it to his ear. “It’s going straight to voicemail,” he said and put his phone on speaker so I could hear for myself.
“Try Birdie,” I said and rattled off her phone number.
“Hold on.” Cookie fumbled with his phone. “All right, say it slower this time.”
