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I’ll never be able to touch her again one way or the other, and the more time we spend in this little kitchen, the more resigned I am to that fact. No happy endings. Definitely not for me.
She might have a shot, though. And she deserves it after everything that’s happened to her. After this mess and the life I’m forcing her to throw down the toilet.
“Fine,” she tells me at last. “If Devan is safe then I’m out of here. Far away. From you, from them. From all of it.”
She’s breaking on the inside the same way I am.
Jade had the information on her father, about his senseless death. No meaning. An accident. It’s almost worse than knowing the man had been wrapped up in things beyond his control. Worse than a meaningful death.
It only meant something to Layla.
There are no answers for her, which is the most awful thing of all.
“Who is going in my place then, butcher?” She sounds so tired.
“Another hot skank I got caught up with who needs to disappear.”
My joke falls flat and Layla can’t muster a smile.
“I figured it was something like that.”
I don’t deserve to have her think anything of me other than what I am—a monster, a killer. The reaper. It’s all I’ve ever been and there isn’t anything else for me at the end of this road. Definitely no white picket fence or that kind of future. No kids. No pets. My black thumb with plants extends to every part of my life.
But if I can make this one thing right and get her out of here safely, I will live with the consequences of every other messed up decision and action I’ve made.
“I’ll leave tonight. Drive until I can’t, then ditch my car,” she finishes.
“I’ll make sure you have what you need.”
I down the last of the whiskey, my fingers tense when I set the mug next to her on the counter. She pauses, jerks, keeping herself from touching me the same way I am with her. She won’t let me touch her. I never will again. It will be my penance for what I’ve done.
Just…too late for us.
I love you, too.
I leave without another word.
Because I am who I am, and she is who she is, and she’s better off without me. The last thing she needs is me around to continue to fuck up her life.
Once I’m outside, I light up a cigarette in the alley behind her building, drawing smoke into my lungs in a way I haven’t allowed myself in years. That one emergency smoke in my coat pocket…if this isn’t an emergency I don’t know what counts.
What a mess. And the only thing that’s going to get us both out of it is time. Time, and me doing what I do best: murder. It’s no alternative to love but I’ve never been built for a happy family life.
THIRTY
layla
ONE YEAR LATER…
You never startout on your journey wishing for a new life because wishes are bullshit and nothing ever comes of them. The only way to make a difference is to work hard and claw your way out of the gutter.
Fuck, who am I kidding?
Everything I fought to obtain, the answers I so desperately sought that I almost lost sight of myself…all for nothing. All to run away like a little bitch and hide in the shadows.
A new life in a new city halfway across the country from the hellhole I left behind, and I stayed in bed for about four months, barely able to get up. Someone with a degree will probably tell me I’m depressed or some shit like that, but I can’t call my old therapist.
I can’t call anyone from my old lifebecause I’m dead.
