Page 61 of Miserable Marionette

“Why was he out there, huh? He wasn’t in the woods by your house. You stupid bitch, have you even thought about that?!” She throws her hands up as movement catches my eye. Her mom's blotchy face peering from behind the blinds before she shuts them fully.

The guilt creeps higher, meddling with my anxiety and that stupid pervasive watering of my eyes. “Who knows what he was doing? He was fucked up.”

I take another step back, but she mirrors me, barely stepping over the glass. “And mutilate his own fucking dick?”

I stop, a sick feeling pooling in my gut. “What?”

“Yeah, his cock was all mashed up. I had just wanted to see him again.” She cries, wiping snot on her arm. “I wanted to see him when they let us into the morgue at the hospital. I had… I miss him so much. Mom started fucking screaming, Audrey. What kind of animal does that?” Her words slur as she stumbles closer. “They’d have just eaten it, right? They’d have eaten more of him, not just chewed his cock.” There’s a weird, almost imploring glint to her eyes, but I think I’m going to be sick.

Vomit surges in my throat, making my face break out in a sheen of sweat. “You need to sober up. The funeral is tomorrow—"

Her eyes seem to lock in on my direction for the first time, tossing her arms up in a scoff. “That’s his fucking car. You’re going to come here in that freak’s car?”

“Gideon is not a freak,” I snap. “He’s done nothing but help your family!”

“You cheated on Bryan with him, didn’t you?” She laughs, but the sound turns ugly, sob-like almost as quickly as it starts. “You chose him over Bryan.”

I roll my eyes, my chest heaving. “What are you? Twelve? I get you’re grieving and all, but have you even sobered up long—"

“You know what? Fuck you! Don’t come to his funeral tomorrow!” She screams it so loud and so close to my face, pieces of her liquored spit dot my cheek. Her short pixie cut is greasy and flat against her head like she hasn’t showered.

“Jess, stop, please. It’s right across the street from my house. We’ve been close for years. I wanted to be there for you and—"

I don’t see it coming until it's too late. Her hand connects brutally with the side of my face, making us both stumble. I gasp, tears welling in my eyes as I reach up to prod at the throbbing lip, pulling my hand back to find it bloody.

Before I can react, Jess starts toward me again, her eyes desperate and hazy with whatever she’s taken. The front door slams open, her mom half-dressed and sobbing stepping out. Gripping the doorframe like it’s the only thing holding her up. “Jessica, stop it! Just stop, please!” she screams. “Just fucking stop!” The wailing that follows is guttural and filled with a grief I can’t begin to understand. A sob of my own works up my throat so quickly I nearly choke on it as I rush back to the car. I don’t look at her again, either of them, as I peel out of the driveway.

And I don’t go home.

My hands are shaking as I let myself into the back of the alterations shop with the key from under the mat. It’s closed today, and I’m grateful for it as I slam into the bathroom, barely crossing the threshold before a tidal wave of emotion breaks free, ugly and loud. The panic attack hits hard and fast, so pungent I barely register the soft, worn hands patting and consoling me before I’m tugged into Mrs. Johnson’s arms. She lets me stay there crying and snotting until I’ve exhausted myself, only to let out a startled little sound when she tugs my face away from her blouse, seeing my bloodied lip. Another hour passes, a cup or two of tea, a cold rag and lots of kind, motherly words before I’m released, admittedly feeling far better than I had when I came in. Objectively still horrible though. Bouncing wildly between anger, indignation, doubt, and guilt. It went about as horribly as it could’ve. And honestly, I’m not all that hurt that I won’t be at Bryan’s funeral so much as I’m hurt she doesn’t want me there. That years of being there for her, for them both, and suddenly none of it matters. Never happened at all.

And all that shit about Gideon?

She needs help, help I’m done trying to provide.

Thankfully, Gideon is in the office shooting heated words into the receiver when I cautiously peek into the foyer of the funeral home a good two hours later than I should’ve, gently laying his keys on the table there.

“Never mind,” I hear him mutter before the receiver clicks hard against its base, but I’m already gone, all but slamming the front door open as he closes the office one. My tongue tests my swollen lip as I rush down the porch steps. Lord, please don’t—

“Audrey, where the hell have you been? I’ve called everywhere,” he seethes.

I don’t turn around, still walking toward my house, calling over my shoulder, keeping my mouth tucked behind. “I’m sorry, I got caught up with Jess and her mom.”

“Do you have any idea how fucking worried I was?” he demands. “I couldn’t find you, Audrey. Do you know how crazy that made me?”

I want so badly to look at him, to see if the needy, panicked sound of his voice would be reflected on his face.

“I won’t borrow the car again. I’m really—" His hands come fast and brutal, jerking me back toward him. I keep my head lowered, but it’s no use. Gideon goes deathly still, his fingers gentle but firm as he takes my chin and angles my head up. Those ocean eyes, deep and bottomless. Bleak. Empty.

Soulless.

Beautiful.

My heart gives an ugly little pang because I want them on me always. I want him to never let go, to make up for lost time. I want Gideon to fix things, like how he used to. Nothing felt bad for long when he was here.

“How did this happen?” His voice is deep, the warning, frigid tone soaking into my bones, making goosebumps dot my flesh.

“It was an accident. I—"