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“Don’t argue with me, Gonzalez. You’ll lose.”
Annalise has painted me as some sort of altruistic hero, yet I know that’s not who I am. I’m a guy who straps on a gun every morning, who rolls around in the muck and mire of the pig stye our streets have become—and here’s the kicker—Ilikewhat I do.
I like it. I’m deeply afraid to know what that says about me.
If I’m being honest, I’ll admit that when I started down this path, I was a twenty-two-year-old kid who got a charge out of living on the edge. And, in the continuing interest of honesty, I still do get an adrenaline high when I take a slimeball down. In those moments, I’m hardly thinking about all the good I may—or may not—be doing for society. Lots of times my thoughts run more along the lines ofI win and you lose, sucker.
Don’t get me wrong, I hate the often vile reality of the world we live in. Sure, I’m glad when something I’ve done takes someone else out of danger, but, at the end of the day, nothing ever really changes. I swear, it’s like pulling weeds. Yank one out and a dozen more crop up.
I crank the engine and pull onto the highway from whence we came. This time, I lower the windows and take in the sea breeze and the sound of the surf. Yes, I’m beginning to get what people see in the ocean. There’s something calming, cleansing, about it.
I need both.
I need to call Tripp and check on the situation back home. See, there’s another whole fly in the ointment with regard to my true character. Apparently, I have killed an innocent man. A kid. I didn’t mean to, but I suppose it’s possible I did overreact. Maybe I do have a hair trigger. Maybe wallowing in sludge and slime for so long has jaded me. Calloused me.
Made me paranoid.
But I swear I saw a gun in his hand. I swear it.
I did swear it, but two weeks out, I’m starting to question the memory.
Maybe a good lawyer can argue PTSD or something. You know, from my high-risk job and all.
I relish the warm breeze whipping across my face, but it doesn’t warm the chill that’s seeped into my soul of late. And it most certainly does not wipe away the image of the kid’s mother and her white-faced devastation.
Man, I could use a drink.
Or some love.
I cast a glance at Annalise, wishing with all my might she weren’t off limits. I like her a lot. In all the obvious ways, yeah, but she’s got a sense of humor, a sarcastic streak a mile wide, a mind equally as sharp—and a vulnerability that makes me want to wrap her in my arms and promise I’ll fix everything and keep her safe in the process.
See, I’m a regular superhero. With instincts like that, how can I doubt?
But if I put my arms around her, if she permitted it, I’d probably also wind up swallowing her whole, so, yup, so much for the hero in me.
Annalise
Would that I could return to say, thirteen, and start fresh from there. I wouldn’t make the same mistakes again, I swear it.
But I have made ’em, so here I sit on Tripp’s balcony, listening to the song of the surf at midnight despite the fatigue dragging me under, more confused than I’ve ever been. Lonelier too.
On the upside, I told Marco tonight that God hadn’t spoken to me in a really long time, but…I believe He is speaking to me. The trick, I think, is getting still and listening. I’m increasingly certain I’d have heard His warnings had I bothered to tune in beforehand.
I saythink,but I’ve been a Christian since I was a little girl. I’ve got godly parents and I’ve sat through more sermons and Sunday school classes than I can count. Iknowhow this works. He doesn’t leave me helpless. So, yup, I know He waved me off of a lot of things, but I charged right through the barricades. The blame—guilt—rests squarely on my shoulders.
It’s a tough pill for a proud person to swallow.
Gulp.
A cough startles me. I sit forward and make out Marco stretched across a lounge chair along the deep end of the pool.
I’m glad I kept the balcony light off. I need my privacy right now.
But I’m more than willing to invade his. The pool lights are on, so I see him clearly—when I lean forward and peer through the iron railing, that is. He’s stretched out, arms behind his head, but I don’t think he’s as relaxed as he appears. Tension literally radiated off him during the drive home, and I have a radar for detecting moody, brooding, unsuspecting hero types. I grew up under the same roof with one, for crying out loud.
What’s his story? I have a feeling he’s grappling with his own troubles. I wonder…
But that is all I will do. I know I should stay put.Know.Funny thing about sin, once you start, it’s easier to keep going. I may not be able to go back in time, but I am resolved to not repeat the mistake I made with Kyle. Or Marco.
