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He chuckled darkly. “You’re smart, kid. Don’t trust anyone.”
“Even you?” I couldn’t help but ask, twisting my body so I faced the cement wall. Another laugh escaped him.
“Especially not me.”
Another bout of silence settled between us. Despite the many aches and pains in my body, I couldn’t find it within me to sit still any longer. Jumping to my feet, I paced the small confines of my prison.
I needed to get out of there.
That one single thought ran rampant within me, racing even my heart that was currently battering against my rib cage. Oh, I had tried. Thirteen times to be exact.
Ten of those times had been after I’d woken up from my surgery and discovered Addie wasn’t with me. The last three times had been after an extensive session with Asshole and the Bitch. Every time, they caught me. Every time, I was punished.
Hell, the furthest I got was a few steps away from the door before men jumped on me.
Maybe an ally would be good in this shit hole.
“Why are you here?” I asked, breaking up the monotony of silence.
For a moment, I thought Doug wouldn’t answer. When he finally spoke, his voice was raspy, as if sandpaper had been used on his vocal cords. “Used to work with them.”
His admission had my hands balling into fists, eyes narrowing. Anger thrummed through me.
“I don’t even have to look at you to know you are glaring at me.” He chuckled harshly. “Discovered my wife was fucking the head honcho. I confronted him, he lost his shit, and I’ve been here ever since.”
“And your wife?” I asked absently.
“Probably still fucking him.”
Silence.
“What about you?” Doug questioned.
My voice was soft when I replied, “I fell in love.”
He waited, probably expecting me to say more, but I kept my lips pursed in a thin line.
“Well, there’s your problem,” Doug said, his voice reminding me of an old wise man children talked to in storybooks. “Falling in love only leads to pain. But falling in hate? That’s when you fucking win wars.”
* * *
Addie
We held the funeral in the fenced-in backyard. It was a beautiful day, the sun brilliant in the cloudless sky. Fitting, I supposed, for a funeral. I wouldn’t have been able to handle it if the clouds opened up, releasing a torrent of rain.
I had dry eyes. It only made sense for the day to be too.
Fallon had crafted a wooden cross beneath the single tree. Carved into the smooth wood was Calax’s name.
Calax Griffin.
My eyes traced each letter until they were etched into my memory.
There was no body for us to bury, but it wasn’t difficult to imagine my beautiful Calax resting beneath layers of dirt. Was he happy? Safe? Would I see him again when I died?
The numbness I’d felt initially after his death cloaked me now. All I was capable of was rapid blinking as I focused on the cross.
Calax’s entire life, summarized in these few short minutes. Represented by a haphazardly carved symbol.
