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“I believe anyone can change. It’s never too late.”
“Naive starlight.” I lean back in the booth, my eyes never leaving hers. “Change?” I let out a bitter chuckle. “Why would I want to change? This is who I am. This darkness inside me, the chaos, the destruction, is all part of me.” I narrow my eyes at her. “And quite frankly, I don’t care what people think.” The admission hangs heavy between us.
The tense silence that had settled between us is abruptly broken by the clatter of plates being set down on the table. “Two bacon cheeseburgers,” she announces, oblivious to the heaviness of our conversation. “Enjoy your meal.”
A wave of hunger washes over me. The aroma of the bacon is too tempting to resist. We each grab our burger and start devouring it. The tension of our prior conversation is momentarily forgotten, replaced by the satisfying crunch of crispy bacon and the tang of melted cheese.
But as I chew, my thoughts remain on edge. They ricochet around my mind like scattered puzzle pieces, disjointed and chaotic.Why would I want to change?I had said. But as I look across the table at her, her eyes bright and hopeful, I can’t help but wonder if there is any truth to her words.
It’s never too late. But is it? Would it be wrong to want something different, something more than this darkness that consumes me? The idea is foreign. The thought lingers in my mind, much like the bittersweet aftertaste of our conversation.
I am who I am. There’s no changing that. This is who I’ve always been. Ashton Williams. The criminal. The psychopath. The kid who they couldn’t control. I’ve raged against society all my life. No. There’s no changing who I am.
10
ASH
The room is dimly lit. A single bulb swings from the ceiling, casting long, eerie shadows on the peeling wallpaper. It’s shabby, but it’s all I can afford for the night. I look back at Lila, her face obscured in the shadows.
She’s curled up on the faded sheets, her breathing steady. I feel a strange pull toward her, a knot in the pit of my stomach. She’s become a vulnerability I can’t afford to have, yet I can’t leave her behind.
I grab the motel phone from the nightstand, the plastic cold in my hand. I walk out the door and lock it with the key from outside to ensure Lila doesn’t try to escape.
I don’t wake her. I know how she’d feel about me robbing the seven eleven. Grabbing my ski mask out of my pocket, I head toward the place I’d spotted on the way in.
They’ll be shut now, so breaking in and stealing everything in the cash register should be easy without any casualties. The safe might be harder to crack, but I’ll try.
I pull the ski mask over my face a block from the seven-eleven. I feel my heart pounding against the cage of my ribs. Despite the adrenaline, I’m strangely calm. This is what I dobest. Taking a deep breath, I blend into the shadows, the lock pick set cold in my hands.
Once at the door, I crouch down. I work quickly, the clicks of the tumblers falling into place echoing my heartbeat. The door swings open, the alarm system immediately catching my attention. No time to disable it. Speed is everything now.
The cash register isn’t hard to crack. The pitiful amount of cash does little to soothe my nerves. A few hundred dollars. Not nearly enough. There’s got to be a safe. But when I sneak into the back, my hopes fall flat. No safe. I open drawers on the filing cabinet and desk, searching for more. They’ve got to have more. Tucked away in a top drawer, however, is a locked box. It’s heavy and promising. I pocket it swiftly.
Time is running out. With one last glance around the deserted convenience store, I slip back into the night, the sound of sirens echoing distantly.
Once a few blocks away, I pull the lockbox out of my pocket and use my lockpick set to open it. I smirk when it falls open. There’s a gold watch, necklace, and diamond ring all of which could be sold for good money at a pawn shop. And at least a thousand dollars in cash. It’ll set us up well.
I check there’s no CCTV in the area and pocket the cash and jewelry, before pulling off my ski mask and grabbing a baseball cap out of my pocket. With the ski mask back in my pocket and the cap on my head, I discard the lockbox in the nearest trash can. And then I spark up a cigarette and head back toward the motel, taking dimly lit routes.
The lights of the town reflects onto the damp asphalt, the night alive with sounds. There’s a bar near the motel, the neon street sign lighting up the quiet street.
Perfect.
I need a drink to calm my nerves. Throwing the cigarette to the ground, I stamp it out before entering the bar. There area few patrons are drinking, so I keep my cap lowered over my face just in case. I settle onto a worn bar stool, the smell of cheap liquor and stale smoke familiar and comforting. I order a whiskey from one bartender and let it burn down my throat, hoping it dulls the noise in my head. I need to think.
Another bartender, a pretty blonde with a soft smile, approaches. “Can I get you anything else?” she asks, her voice syrupy sweet. She leans too close, her fingers brushing mine as she takes the empty glass.
“Just a beer,” I reply curtly, my gaze fixed on the bar. I feel her gaze on me, but I don’t look up, not wanting to encourage her.
“Rough day? You sure you don’t need something stronger?” she teases, pulling me a beer.
“Beer’s fine,” I say, my tone icy. I give her a cursory glance, a clear signal that I’m not here for small talk.
She backs off a bit, her smile dimming.
In another time, in another life, maybe I’d have flirted back with her. I would’ve felt that spark, that excitement when a pretty woman showed interest. I would’ve taken her out the back, against the wall, consumed by raw, primal desire. It would’ve been rough, passionate, and over before it began.
And then I would’ve left her, another notch on my belt, another memory to drown in the bottom of a glass. But not now. No other woman, no matter how seductively beautiful, can ignite that fire within me like Lila does. Just the thought of her sends a jolt of desire through me, a longing that’s become so familiar that it feels like a part of me.
