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My family, he says. I have no fucking family. I dunno what he’s trying to do, what he wants me to do, goddammit. Why he won’t let up, day after day, call after call.
And then I think of the girl, that girl I thought I saw around town and wonder why my mind won’t let up, either, why it’s stuck on something it knows isn’t possible, something I can’t have.
On all the fucking regrets and sadness, the lost hopes and the guilt. All that goddamn guilt. All the fucking-up of people’s minds and lives, and I... I was turning into my dad. I see it, clear as day. I feel it. And all I want is for it to end.
Is that why Merc keeps calling? Can he hear it in my voice? This resignation, this capitulation. The defeat.
The end of the fight.
***
The end of fighting, didn’t I decide that? Many times over, stewing in my dark thoughts in a prison cell, later in the hospital after my dad stabbed me. Told myself to give in. Give up. Just throw the fucking towel in.
Still, when two guys step in my way once again as I head toward the river later that night, I balk and shove between them.
“Fuck off,” I mutter. “Take your turn another time.”
A hand grabs my shoulder and drags me back a step. I twist in his grip, already poised and ready to strike—the back and forth with my dad for most of my life has taught me a thing or two about fighting, because I’m a stubborn bastard and eventually refused to just let him beat on me whenever he was in his drinks—only to stop myself.
Let out a breath.
I know this guy. Ed. Edward. He used to trail along with my gang at school, hiding behind the others, calling out slurs from the security of the shadows. He liked to deliver the last kicks, the parting lines.
“What do you want?” I ask, my voice tight.
I don’t owe this guy anything, no penance, and besides that, I don’t think I can take more beating today. Even if it hadn’t been Ed... for what’s worth—not much of anything, I guess—I never physically hurt any kid in school.
But since that’s not worth a dime, I wait to see what they expect from me.
“Look,” is all he says, eyes trained at a spot behind me, so I glance over my shoulder, more annoyed and tired than curious.
“What?”
Another guy is up ahead. His brother Jonas, maybe?
And as he turns, I see a girl. The other guy is blocking this girl’s way, a cocky smirk on his face, arms folded over his chest.
“What’s this?” I mutter, getting angry. “What is he doing with her?”
“I thought you’d like this.”
“I don’t. And it’s none of my business.” I’m trying for calm, really fucking trying. “Now get your hands off me.”
“Are you sure? Take a look, go on.” Ed nods at the guy and sure enough, he’s turned back to her and is advancing on her, trying to corner her, back her up against the fence of a garden. “This is what gets your rocks off, ain’t that right?”
Goddammit.
“Look, I haven’t seen anything. I was just passing through.” I jerk my arm free of his hold. “I’ll just be on my fucking way.”
But then the girl looks right at me, catching my eye, and I stumble to a halt. A jolt goes through me, a lightning bolt of recognition, because I know her. I know that pretty face.
The face I keep seeing around Destiny, the face I thought I’d imagined.
Ah fuck.
“Of course.” Ed spits at me. “Course you don’t give a shit, you piece of assfuck. Never thought you would. But you enjoy it. Enjoy giving others pain, don’t you?”
My mouth is bleeding. I lick the salty-sweet taste off my lips. “No,” I say. “It doesn’t do it for me.”
