I watch her from my truck even though she didn’t want to see me tonight. But that doesn’t mean I can’t see her. She’s outside a school, her hand is pressed up against the fence, her long blonde hair down. It flows around every time the wind catches it. She looks sad, more miserable than I’ve ever seen her. Her eyes are red and her mouth is tight. I wonder what it is that makes that look on her face like her world has been broken so badly that there’s no repairing it.
But I can’t wonder.
I shouldn’t even be here.
But I just can’t help myself.
She’s like a drug, my own personal fucked up drug.
And I can’t stay away, no matter how hard I try.
It’s not good for either of us, this fucked up thing we both have going on. We’re both as cracked as one another. Both as shattered as each other. Two shattered hearts cannot make it right. It would just cause an avalanche of feelings, feelings neither of us can bare.
She opens the gate, the kids running all around the playground. I sit forward so I can see clearer. She drops to her knees as she reaches the gate, a sob raking over her body. A little girl runs to her, wrapping her tiny arms around her shoulders and cries. The scene doesn’t make any sense, I can’t understand what I’m seeing. Then I see what the little girl mouths and I know, know that that’s what she wanted to tell me.
Mom.
I can’t see her anymore. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t deal with it all. It’s too much, it will be too much for her.
But I can’t help myself.
Drug… she’s a drug… and I’m wildly addicted.
I sit there and watch her for an hour. I have a job tonight. I can’t let whatever I have for her affect what I do. I’ve already declined work because I wanted to see her every day to get my fix. She listens to me when I say don’t touch, she obeys me. Most women I’m with never obey, they always try to touch, touch me in places where their hands are not permitted.
I am so lost in her I don’t recognize when she straightens her spine and grips the little girl until it’s too late. I’m not fast enough for the slap that echoes across her face either. The little girl who has edged to her side is crying, and the man pulls her arm to get her away. Rose screams something, tears soaking her face, making her makeup run. Her eyes look black.
This is the father, that much I can tell.
He storms away, and Rose drops to the ground. Her head is between her hands. I should go to her, try to comfort her, though I can’t. I don’t know how to. What I would say? How to do that? I’ve never done or needed to do something like that. Crying is the walk away zone for me.
I drive away, wanting to touch her and hold her, knowing that I shouldn’t. I drive to my job, my gear already in my truck. Jake rings, and it’s the third time he’s rung this week. I’ve been ignoring his calls, ignoring him altogether. I don’t want him to connect the dots and potentially ruin it all.
I know though if I don’t answer soon he’ll go on a manhunt for me. And he’s damn good at finding out what he wants and what he needs.
“Yeah,” I answer, pulling up to the local strip club. I stop the car and turn it off, reaching behind me to pocket my gun. Tonight is a different hit, tonight is an up close and personal hit. My phone rings. Jake’s calling, it’s time.
“You knew this was going to happen, didn’t you? You knew we’d find out.” I look at the gun, wondering if it would be easier to just kill all those that are close to me. Would that keep her safe?
“Yes, I knew,” I finally answer him.
He screams into the phone. “This is why you’ve been ignoring me, you didn’t want me to know.”
“Yes.”
“You know he knows, he wants her back, Black, and I can’t say no to him.”
“Just tell me when?”
“What are you going to do, Black? Don’t take on everyone for her.”
“I will do what I have to do, Jake, just don’t be there to collect her. You won’t like the outcome.”
“Fuck!” he screams loudly and then hangs up.
It’s busy when I enter, and I spot her straight away. She’s at the bar, her breasts are leaning on it. She’s seducing a man twice her age. She spots me as soon as I’m in sight and she looks around, nerves evident on her stone-like facial expression as her body shakes.
“Stella.”
“Don’t do it, Black,” she says, stepping as far away from me as she can possibly get behind the bar. Her clothes are skimpy, her breasts on full display.
“I need to talk to you privately.”
“Nope.” She shakes her head back and forth.
“This is the last time I will ask nicely.”
“I can’t. I know, I know why you are here. I just can’t.”
“Is that your choice?” She looks at me with her mouth open and a small gasp leaves her throat. Her head slowly nods up and down. I nod mine and walk away. She runs as soon as I’m out of sight. I turn around to watch her and then follow her. She runs to the back of the club and locks herself in a room. I hear talking, so I break the door down, and it bounces open, revealing her on the phone. She screams, but no one comes. I grab her forcefully, and she drops her phone to the ground where it smashes to pieces. She tries to kick me, to break free, but it doesn’t work.
It’s dark, the club surrounded by nothing but bushland. I take her into it and she doesn’t stop screaming the whole way. When I think I’m far enough away, I let her go and she tries to run. But I managed to get a rope wrapped around her neck when she was fighting me. Now it pulls tight as she tries to run and she drops to the ground, clawing at her neck, attempting to remove it.
I stand above her and she stills. Realizing nothing is going to work, though I have to give it to her, her fight is good. I’m sure I have scratches over my body.
“Please don’t do this,” she pleads, tears cascading down her face.
“What did you think would happen? Why didn’t you run?”
“I did. I changed my name. Just say you never saw me, please. I’ll give you everything I have.”
“I don’t work like that, Stella.”
“You’re just like them… scum,” she screams at me.
“Like the scum you stole from? You stole close to a million dollars, Stella. What did you think would happen? You could just walk away... escape?” I laugh dryly at her.
“You’re sick, you know that? Sick and fucked in the head.”
“I never claimed to be normal, baby.”
“No, you’re lower than the devil himself. You murderer.”
“Goodbye, Stella,” I say, bringing the gun up and shooting. Her mouth is open, words wanting to leave her mouth that never fully make their escape. Her eyes are large with shock and anger.
I leave her there, as per their request.
“It’s done,” I say into the phone to the Pres.
“Thanks, son,” are his words of reply before I hang up on him.
You’d think someone like me, someone that kills people for a living, would have nightmares. When I lay my head down that night, awaiting the nightmare, I wonder why they don’t come. Am I that fucked up that someone like me doesn’t deserve them? Or maybe all the bad I do is my penance.