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It’s only when the street quiets that I open my eyes and force myself to move forward. Going through with the motions.
Sheisdifferent. She does know better. She knows who and what I am.
She just doesn’t want to accept it.
And how can I really blame her? I don’t want to accept it either. I didn’t even get to tell her all of the truth. I didn’t get to take her pain away from thinking she’s to blame.
And that makes everything that much harder to swallow.
Passing a corner liquor store, I make sure I track the movements of the few people scattered around me. I keep to myself, heading south down the street. It’s late and only the moon and streetlights illuminate the road ahead of me. But dark is good when you don’t want to be seen.
I try to focus, but with the quiet of the night, I can’t help but to think of Addison. She’s always comforted me in the darkness.
I finally had her. Really had her. I felt what I always knew there could be between us. And I let her get away. I lost her by confessing.
Maybe that’s why it hurts this fucking bad. She loved who I am, but hates what I’ve done. And there’s no way I can take it back.
She saw the truth of what I was, but I could have sworn she knew it all along.
Maybe I should have just hinted at it. And let her ask if she wanted to know more.
You can’t change the past. If anyone knows that fact all too well, it’s me.
Give her time.I close my eyes, remembering the advice I gave Tyler once. If only it was that easy.
The chill in the autumn air is just what I need as I steady my pace with my hands in my jacket pockets. The metal of the gun feels cold against my hand as I glance from house number to house number.
55 West Planes. In the mailbox.
That’s what Marcus said. Simple instructions. But an easy setup if he’s planning one.
They say he’s a man with no trace, no past, and nothing to use against him. A ghost. A man who doesn’t exist.
He knows everything and only tells you what he wants when he wants to deliver it. But he’s a safe in-between for people like us to use. Because if Marcus tells you something, it’s because he wants you to know it.
And that’s a good thing, unless he wants you dead.
I brush my hair back as I glance from right to left. There’s a group of guys on the steps of an old brick house across the street and on its mailbox is 147.
I cross the street after passing them, so I’m on the odd-numbered side. The block before this was numbered in the two hundreds. So one more block.
The adrenaline pumps in my blood and I finger the gun inside my jacket pocket.
I have to will away the thoughts of Addison, no matter how much they cling to me and plague me every waking second.
My father taught us all to pay attention. Distractions are what get you killed.
A huff of a laugh leaves me at the memory of his lesson.
I guess when you don’t care if you live or die, the severity of his words don’t send pricks down your skin like they did when you were a child.
Tyler wasn’t with me that day. I wonder if my father ever bothered to give Tyler that advice. Addison was as big of a distraction to him as she was to me.
With the tragic memories threatening to destroy me, I halt in my tracks, realizing I wasn’t even looking at the numbers.
And I happened to stop right at 55. The mailbox is only two steps away.
The cold metal door of the mailbox opens with a creak. The sound travels in the tense air and the inside appears dark and empty. I dare to reach inside and pull out only an unmarked envelope. Nothing else.
