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Five Years Later
Imagesofbloodflashwith each blink of my eyes. It covers my hands. Every man I’ve killed. Their faces come into focus, from the most recent all the way to my very first. And then, all I see is Cara.
I still remember every detail. When I found her. The way her eyes were opened. How my stomach churned with bile. The raw ache in my chest that cracked open when I felt her cold skin. How pale she was with the blood drained from her body.
Her mother’s primal screams still pierce my ears. Earth-shattering screeches that sliced through my chest like butter. The way she dropped to her knees while I jumped into the pool, tainted with her daughter’s blood. The way I performed CPR on her, despite the slashes in her wrists that drained the life out of her before she could drown.
I still remember how I shielded her from her brother, Scotty, and their mother so that image couldn’t be burned into their brains the same way it is in mine.
Every. Fucking. Day.
I take a swig of the metal flask, then toss it into the passenger seat, not caring to put the lid back on. My foot hits the pedal, accelerating even faster. I’m ready to make the replay stop. I’ll reach the bridge in about thirty-five seconds.
I know this because I’ve done it too many times before. Tonight, though? Tonight, I won’t chicken out.
I’m tired of everything. Of not getting enough sleep, of reliving the worst days of my life over and over again. Of not being able to file away every detail of my life.
People say that if they could, they’d love to read their favorite book for the first time, or watch their favorite movie for the first time, to relive those emotions that story stirred in them.
But I can, and it’s a fucking curse, not a gift. That gift dies today. With me. This is it. The final ending. I roll the windows down.
“For Cara,” I say, white knuckling the steering wheel. And then I yank to the right, flying over the railing of the bridge.
The Lamborghini hits the water like concrete. It doesn’t take long for the water to spill in. I keep my seatbelt on. Anything to keep me from changing my mind.
My socks are wet.
The engine kicks out.
The water is to my knees. I breathe in; I breathe out. I reach for the flask, but my belt locks and I can’t reach it. Mother fucker.
I’m submerged to my chest now. There’s no going back, and I don’t want to.
There’s no oxygen. I’m completely submerged. But I welcome the forever sleep. Arms wrap around me, trying to pull me free. I buck, wanting to fight against their hold.No, please. Let me go. Let me be free. Leave me to die.
I can’t relive this moment anymore.
A buzz sounds; the bars unlock. Metal rolls, and then there’s a click. The draft of the cell threatens to send a shiver up my spine, but I force away that feeling.
“Murphy. Get the fuck up,” an officer says, his tone clipped.
I don’t budge. I want to be numb, but my brain won’t let that happen. Metal hits metal again, this time in a symphony as handcuffs are dragged across the bar to create an abundance of noise.
“Declan Murphy. On your feet.”
I hear him calling me, but I don’t respond. Can’t they just leave me laying here and let me die. I wait for the pain from what the frustrated asshole will do to me. I welcome it. To help drown out the incessant highlight reel of how I failed Cara. If I can’t be numb, I’ll take whatever uncomfortable feelings I’m able to grasp.
“Last fucking call,” he grinds out.
Yes, please. Fight me. Make me bleed the way she did. Make me hurt, end me. Stop it all. Make me numb. He won’t do it, though. He knows who I am, what would happen if he touched a Murphy boy. The empty threat hangs in the air, and I still don’t move.
The officer huffs, his footsteps becoming louder as he approaches. His hand clutches my shoulder, then he tosses me to the floor.
I don’t react. I just lay on the cement floor, waiting.
“Your ride is here. Jesus. Get up, Murphy.”
My ride? I called no one, told no one about what I did. It was reckless, stupid now that they pulled me from the murky waters.
