Chapter 2
KILL
Contentment washed over me as Faith cuddled into my arms. The instant I saw her walk into the bar, I knew she was going to change everything. Having my first real taste of her solidified it.
“How did you and the boys meet?” she asked as the sun started to rise, pushing the magical night into a memory.
The innocent question falling from her pouty lips threw me back in time. A time I refused to forget, as it had molded me into who I was today.
“At my Grandparents funeral,” I stated bluntly. The force of the jagged memory tore me open, allowing my insecurities to seep out.
“I’m sorry,” she responded, most likely too shocked to say more.
I squeezed her, bringing her tighter against me. The warmth of her body soothed me as my past assaulted me. The horrible truth was with their death my real family emerged, and I wouldn't change a thing.
I laughed darkly at this realization. Faith reached out and ran her hands over my abdomen in a comforting caress. Blazing heat followed everywhere her hand stroked. I stilled her movement by entangling her hand in mine. Having a raging hard-on while telling her about my grandparents’ death was too fucked up, even for me.
“It was the worst and best day of my life.”
“You don’t have to tell me.”
“It’s okay. You should know. It's kind of a long story. Are you up for it?" I asked, placing soft kisses on the top of her head, unable to stop touching her.
She leaned up and kissed me softly on the lips. "If you're alright with telling me, yes, I'm up for it."
I winked my affirmation. The knot in my throat made words impossible. As she settled back into her spot on my chest, I took a deep breath, dislodging the lump and my memories in the process. The movement caused her head to rise and fall, allowing her scent of vanilla and lavender to permeate my senses. My mind rewound to the past, pulling me along for the ride.
Inever met my parents. The only information I had about my mom was from my grandparents’ hate-filled rants. I desperately tried to be the perfect grandson, someone they could be proud of, and to make up for my mom’s mistakes. As hard as I tried, I never seemed to make them happy.
My grandpa was a lawyer at one of the biggest law firms in Portland, and my grandma was involved in every charity imaginable. I was left alone a lot, having to keep myself entertained.
During my alone time, I taught myself to play the guitar. I would have concerts in my room, singing and playing in front of my dresser mirror while pretending I was a famous rockstar everyone loved. My grandparents thought it was just a phase. They started to worry when I won the talent contest in sixth grade and recognized my passion.
When I was little, my grandpa had drilled into my head he wanted me to follow in his footsteps and become a lawyer. I assumed it was to help erase some of the disgrace my mom earned me. His angry face was burned into my memory the day I told him I wanted to be a musician.
That was the first time I purposely refused to be the perfect grandson. The only time my actions made his temper escalate into violence. He grabbed my guitar from me and smashed it on the floor. I was only fifteen. While I cried over the destruction, he had the nerve to tell me it was for the best and I would thank him someday.
I pulled further away from them, staying out late, not checking in, refusing the farce I had held onto for so long. One night I came home drunk, wanting nothing more than my bed. My grandma was sitting on the couch crying on my grandpa's shoulder. He looked up at me with disgust. My grandma hurtled insults at me as she pummeled my chest with her fists. Screaming at me about how selfish I was, and all they’d wanted was to give me a good life and I kept throwing it in their face. She told me I was behaving exactly like my mom.
Her accusation caused shame to surge through me. She was right. I wasn't proud of what I was doing, and I didn't want to end up like my mom. I didn't want to end up like my grandparents either.
I became the dutiful grandson after that night. At a crossroads about how to proceed with my life, I decided to play nice until I could make a decision about my future.
I picked up side jobs to earn money. My first purchase was a new guitar. Partying no longer held any appeal for me. At seventeen, I was already tired of it all. I started playing again to fill the void.
I applied to the schools I was expected to and I was accepted to them all. My grandparents had been so happy they’d succeeded in turning around my mother's son.
My grandma had wanted to throw a party for me, her Stepford grandson. The child she always wanted. While out picking up decorations for the party, they were hit head-on by a drunk driver.
At eighteen, I had to bury the only family I had. Thankfully, my grandpa, the most anal man ever, had already made the arrangements. The partners of his firm went for the harshest penalty during the trial, and I received enough compensation I wouldn’t have to work for the rest of my life.
My grandpa had specified in his will I was to attend a university and become a lawyer. Cementing me in his law firm as soon as I passed the bar. Floyd, one of the partners knew I had no desire to follow in his footsteps. He argued with the firm at how unfair the expectation seemed for an eighteen-year-old boy who had lost everything in one night. He fought hard, and the partners finally relented.
The funeral was a blur. After Floyd picked me up, I shut down. People would offer me their condolences. I would shake my head not registering their words.
As people had droned on, the numbness overtook my whole body until it was a shield. Every word was deflected off me. When it was over, I excused myself to the bathroom, unable to endure any more sympathetic gestures. I told Floyd to go to the plots without me, intending to get a ride down later.
When I came out of the bathroom, the caskets were gone, and there was an older African-American lady flitting around the room, cleaning up all of the discarded tissues and other trash left behind. She’d looked up at me with the clearest set of whiskey-brown eyes.
