19
Damon
An urge to see honesty prevail may have only entered my head casually, as I’d chauffeured Bea to the lake last night, but it was amazing how the seed of conscience could germinate and flower so quickly, even in the heart of someone who killed people for a living. When a relationship with Bea had looked like exceeding my grasp, I hadn’t allowed guilt or personal history to upset any of the plays I made for her, but now that I’d held that magical creature in my arms, made love to her and discovered that my yearning for her was not quenched as a result but permanent; now the truth hung over me as a dirty lie that would fester and mutate into something terrible if I didn’t own up.
It was probably inappropriate to be thinking of my sweetheart as I sat at home cleaning my guns—the same that might be turned on her father someday if the mafia’s ambitions became stirred up into something beyond blackmail. Still, there was nothing else I could think about. The scenario that had brought us together was double-bladed for being both the source of joy and misery. There was simply no way for any cunning or fabrication to make it into anything other than the unanswerable complication it was; one that I had readily embraced for the chance of seeing her again, but one that might equally see her hate me when the truth was out.
Though it felt a bit late to start doing “the right thing”—both in the context of my life and my relationship with Bea—I was nevertheless compelled to take whatever hit was coming sooner rather than later; accept its disaster with just a bit of integrity rather than having been found to have wallowed in its murky waters for as long as possible before surfacing. Meeting Bea had changed me in such a short period of time, and there might just be hope in that if I could show it in the right way. The old version of me, or one who was in lust but not necessarily in love, would’ve taken whatever scraps from the table I could before allowing the walls to come tumbling down. Not out of malice but because playing the game of life in the way that suited your own ends had always been the way to survive; if something falls into your lap then make the most of it.
But my feelings for Bea went beyond those typical instincts and demanded something more. I could spend days, weeks, maybe months, sneaking around, having subtle midnight rendezvous, a chance fuck in the cupboard and parking lot fondles. Perhaps I could even be taking her from behind in the restroom of her father’s victory party if he won the Presidency. The old me would’ve relished the opportunity, if my cock alone was handling the decision-making.
Maybe one day, when I became aged and undesirable, my lonesome genitalia would despise me for failing to humor them with such a memory. The here and now wasn’t troubling me with such selfish desires, however. There wasn’t even any dilemma present. I’d made up my mind that I wanted to break the truth to Bea before matters progressed any further—then let her decide if she still wanted me. The only question was how and when to drop such a bombshell. I wasn’t feeling so reckless as to not want to tip the scales tactically in my favor and put Bea in a position where she would at least consider my perspective as a whole; where the full extent of my inner turmoil could be related so that, even if her response was to tell me to fuck off, that she would do so knowing I had avoided stringing her along…that she would do so knowing that my feelings for her were genuine and our failure to make it work would hurt me just as much.
I needed to get her away somehow; put sufficient distance between us and our home lives so we could talk things through with the kind of depth and thoroughness that young but vibrant love deserved. Another midnight visit to the lake was too unsettled. We needed to be alone together but relaxed and in a clear state of mind.
Picking up my cell phone, I started texting a question to Bea, though still not knowing exactly how it could work in practice.
‘Bea, do you think you could get a night away some time? Maybe a two-day break one weekend soon? I’d like to take you away somewhere.’
As I wrote it down it was almost as if the words spoke back to me, confirming that this was indeed my best shot. By taking Bea away from her family, from society and spending more than a whole day in each other’s company, we would really get to know each other on another level. Once she’d experienced my company for more than one day, I’d be ready to tell her everything.
After sending the text, I went back to cleaning my guns—something every sensible person who has ever had to pull a trigger knew to be a crucial task. I was expecting Bea to need further persuasion or help with conjuring up some deceitful reason to not be at home for a couple of days, but instead she replied immediately with one simple word.
Yes.