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I’ll never let her know it, but Natalie’s words cut deep. Deeper than she probably meant them to, although I don’t give her any credit for being a decent person because of that.
She just doesn’t know that she’s picking at an old wound.
Tears sting my eyes as I shove my key into the lock then step inside my apartment. I chuck the key ring blindly onto the coffee table and sink onto the couch, blinking hard and fast.
Even if she’s not here to have the satisfaction of seeing me break down, I don’t want to give Natalie even a small victory over me.
Swallowing hard, I dig into my jeans pocket and pull out the cigarette case that I repurposed as a little wallet. I flip it open and tug out the cards and cash I keep inside, then grab the one remaining item that’s tucked away in the back.
It’s an old photograph, cut down to size to fit inside the case, the extraneous sides trimmed away.
The edges are rough and worn, and the image itself has faded a bit over the years. I could probably preserve it better if I didn’t keep it with me all the time, but I can’t bear to do that.
This picture is all I have.
Chewing on my bottom lip, I skim my fingertips over the two kids in the photograph. They’re young, and the girl has her arms wrapped tightly around the boy.
He’s younger than her, probably by a couple years.
She’s taller than him, so her hug is almost a stranglehold, her arms wrapped around his shoulders and neck as she clutches him close to her body.
Not that he seems to mind.
His little hands grip her forearms, and they’re both grinning widely at the camera, teeth on full display.
Me and my brother.
A kid whose name I don’t even know.
A lump tightens my throat as I stare down at the image. If he were still around, if we were still in each other’s lives, I like to think we’d have each other’s backs. I like to think we’d do anything for each other. That I’d be the kind of big sister he could count on, and he’d be the kind of little brother who would look out for me right back.
I like to think we could still have that.
If he’s even alive.
Guilt and sadness hit me like a wave, and I know it’s probably just a combination of a long-ass day and one too many shots at work, but I suddenly feel like Natalie’s words were horribly true.
She’s right. No one is on my side.
I am alone.
And I probably always will be.
* * *
My dreams are a convoluted mess of blood and death, pain and pleasure.
But this time, when I dream of the night I stepped in front of three bullets and almost died, when I dream of Marcus’s face hovering over mine, I see the two other faces that hover behind his more clearly than I ever have before.
Ryland’s harsh features are set like stone as he stares down at me, his hazel eyes full of some threat, some warning.
Theo’s eyes are the same brilliant blue-green I remember from the bar, and his charming face slips into a mask of worry and sorrow as he watches me die.
Marcus cups my face in both hands, cradling my head as the strength ebbs from my body. Three bloody smears mark his face like war paint, and his grip on me tightens as he lowers his head to mine, his lips brushing my ear.
The low, deep rumble of his voice penetrates the fog rising up in my mind.
And this time, I hear exactly what he says.
