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“I can only imagine. I’m an animal lover myself, but I understand the need for slaughtering animals. I’m not a vegan, or vegetarian. As long as it’s humane…”
“Ours was not,” I murmur softly. “I cried every year when it came time to slaughter the calves. I spent the previous year raising them in the fields, tending their injuries, making sure they were fed. I brought them in during blizzards so they wouldn’t freeze.”
“You took great care of them.”
“I did, but one of my jobs was to slaughter them. I had to slit their throats and drain their blood as they writhed in agony.”
“Oh, Zeb, that’s horrible.”
“They were helpless and terrified. But worse than that, they looked at me, someone they trusted, with confusion, pain, and betrayal.”
“I’m so sorry.” She places a hand on my arm. “I can’t imagine how much that must’ve hurt.”
A lump forms in my throat as memories of those horrific days threaten to overcome me.
“I hated it.” I’m a grown man, yet recalling this brings tears stinging the corners of my eyes. “I hated their fear. I hated the way my heart broke when I was forced to end their lives.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“To this day, the smell of manure and hay bring overpowering emotions front and center.” My voice cracks as I recall my childhood.
On slaughter days, the coppery tang of blood brought bile rising in the back of my throat, but it was the acrid stench of fear and the pervasive smell of death that never left me, that caused the most trauma.
I shake my head slowly and sigh. “Like I said, we weren’t kind to our animals. They were to be used and that was it. Compassion was seen as weakness and a sin. Which is why you inspire me.”
“Me?”
She needs to know how her life impacts others.
“I can still see it.” I suppress a shudder. “The sheep, their blood staining the wool. The hooks, dripping with the last drops of life from the cattle. The bleats and squeals and screams.” My fists clench and I shake my head at the memory. “It’s something I’ll never forgive my father for making me witness, and be a part of, at such a young age.”
Odd. I haven’t delved down that deep dark well in ages. Why now? How did Kaye get me to reveal this much of myself? I’ve told no one in such gruesome detail.
Why are memories of my father surfacing now? Probably because this prick of a man, Scott—Kaye’s abusive ex—reminds me of my father.
Whatever the reason, I need to pack up those memories and shove them in a deep dark hole in the farthest recesses of my mind.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to over share.” My molars grind together as I try to force the memories away. “But you inspire me because you want to help animals. Not hurt them, like I did.”
“Don’t be sorry. Thank you for sharing that with me.” She’s sincere in her words and what she says resonates powerfully with me.
“If you need any help, when it comes to Scott, if things go south with him, I’m here if you need someone to talk to, or someone to beat Scott to a bloody pulp.”
“Oh please…” A smile warms her face. “No beating anyone to a pulp, bloody or not, but thank you for offering. I just need to figure out how to deal with him, once and for all.”
And I’ll be right by your side.
At least, I’d like to think she might want me there.
Until she asks, or Scott forces my hand, I’ll wait for her to come to me.
She turns to face me and a million emotions swim through her troubled gaze. It feels like ages, that we stand together, as if time no longer exists.
The wind kicks up, sending waves of chilly air across the rooftop. The sun sets in a spectacular riot of colors. Dark blues merge with fiery oranges. Those blues drift to deep purples and eventually the inky blackness of night lays claim to the world below.
The city lights up, attempting to push back the darkness, and comes alive as people continue on with their lives.
A wave of warmth spreads over me when Kaye closes the gap between us until only inches remain. I almost think she’s about ready to lift on tiptoe and kiss me. There’s an invisible energy pulling us together.
