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Please come back Enzo. I don’t want the empire. I don’t want revenge. I don’t want anyone else to die.
Langston paces while I shiver for several minutes before I gather my strength and stand. I’m no good quivering on the floor.
I fucked up; now I need to do everything I can to fix this.
Zeker is still in surgery, so there is nothing I can do for him.
Enzo is gone.
But Langston…he’s in anguish.
He’s beyond torn up, practically driving his feet so hard into the ground with each step I’m surprised he hasn’t gone through the floorboards.
I can’t help Zeke or Enzo, but I can help Langston.
I get up off the floor realizing for the first time I’m shirtless, only a bra covers my indecency. I gave up my top to help Zeke. My hands are covered in blood the same way Langston’s are. The same Enzo’s were.
I walk upstairs to the bathroom off the bedroom I share with Enzo and then wash my hands under the water, watching in horror as the water turns red from the blood of a man I can’t save. Wiping the blood away in part feels like I’m washing him away.
Why do I care? Zeke was a monster. He killed men on a daily basis, but he didn’t deserve to die.
When I’m finished washing, I mindlessly walk over to the closet, pull out a shirt and jeans, and put them on. Then I grab one of Enzo’s shirts and jeans. They will be too big on Langston. Enzo is at least two inches taller, his muscles are more defined, but Langston needs a change of clothes. He can’t keep walking around carrying his friend’s blood on him all day.
I head downstairs and into the kitchen, trying to find a way to help Langston. I doubt he would take food. My stomach is in knots; his is probably worse.
He might drink booze, and it might help him numb his feelings, but I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad thing.
Coffee.
It will warm him up and keep him awake while he waits for his friend.
“Miss Miller, can I help you with anything?” Westcott says.
“No, I got it.”
“If you need any food or drink I would be happy to make it for you.”
Westcott and I haven’t always gotten along. He always seemed too cold and loyal to Enzo for my liking.
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“Thank you, but I need to do this myself.”
He gives me an understanding look, his eyes filled with sadness. “The coffee is in the cabinet on your right.”
My mouth drops. How did he know I was looking for coffee? I think I’ve underestimated Westcott.
I turn to the cabinet and pull out the coffee. Of course, Enzo has a fancy coffee maker that takes me ten minutes to figure out how to use. But I do it. Then I pour the coffee into a mug and head back to Langston.
He’s still pacing outside the door. It’s started to get late into the middle of the night. But he’s so awake I don’t think he could sleep if he were forced to.
“Drink this,” I say.
He ignores me.
“Langston, drink this,” I try again, holding out the coffee.
“I’m not doing anything that brings me comfort, not while Zeke might be dying.”
