"Who sent you?"
"Um, the police department." I pause, trying to gather myself. This is worse now that it's sinking in. "I'm here to identify her body. Officer Drake told me to come in."
His face softens, as if he knows what I'm about to have to do, and as if he feels sorry for me because I've lost my mother, but the sad part is she really wasn't a mother at all. I wish things had been different, but they weren't. I love my mother. I always have. I wish she had tried harder, but what's really sad is that this was always my fear, except now it feels like a blessing. She was never going to stop. She was a ticking time bomb.
"Come on, sweetheart. I'll take you to the morgue." He comes around the desk and I grip onto my purse as I follow him through the building. We come to the door and he looks at me. "Are you okay?"
"Yes, I'm fine. Just ready to get this over with."
He knocks on the door before opening it, then announces to someone on the other side why we're here. A middle-aged female comes to the door and lets me in. "I'm Dr. Hale, the medical examiner."
I follow her inside, my hands close to my body, suddenly creeped out. Everything is so...I don't know, cold. Silver, metal tables sit on the floor, and along the walls are the small, metal doors just like you see in the movies. This is really happening. I never really thought I'd be an orphan. "What's the name?"
"Katherine Larsen."
She walks to that wall of the dead and reads a few of the tags that label who the not so lucky winner behind each door is, before stopping at one and she grabs the handle, pulling it open. She slides the metal tabletop out until it's fully extended. My eyes immediately gloss over as she pulls the sheet down to her chest, revealing the female that lies on top. "Mom," I whisper in a cry as the tears begin to spill over.
"I'll give you a few minutes," she says and leaves, her shoes squeaking against the tile floor. The door opens and closes, confirming that I'm now alone in here.
Her blonde hair is splayed across the table, underneath her. Her skin looks pale, her cheekbones more prominent, sunken in as if she's lost more weight. I guess I was in too much shock last night to notice. She looks more peaceful than I've seen her in years. "You weren't supposed to die, Mom. You were supposed to get better. You were supposed to get help like I begged of you for years. You were supposed to live, because I was supposed to be enough for you to want to. You were supposed to love me, not because of why I was conceived, but because I was your daughter, your flesh and blood. Nothing is supposed to be more important than that." I pause. “I’m babbling.”
My cheeks are stained and wet from the tears; the same ones that have obviously been missing until their sudden return this summer. I take her hand in mine and look down at her. It's cold, not warm like mine. "You remember that time when I was nine? You took me to the beach for a day; a toes in the water kind of day you said. That was right after you got that job at the hotel cleaning rooms. I'm surprised the car made it that far, but you were determined that I would get to see the ocean. I remember it like it was yesterday. We got there and you put that fancy hat on your head that you found at a thrift store. It was so ugly, but fuck if you weren't the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. I remember thinking to myself that I wanted to look just like you. Anyway, you took my hand and pulled me out to the sand. It was the weirdest feeling having it squish between my toes as we walked toward the shoreline. It was too windy to swim, but it was warm out."
I laugh, remembering the expression on her face as we ran toward the water. "You were so happy that day. It was as if no bad existed in the world. When we finally got to the water you twirled me around at the edge, letting the water splash around us as we screamed. I'll never forget what you said to me. You squatted down beside me and pulled me down onto my knees between yours so that you could hold me. I felt so warm, so wanted. Then you told me that the only way to be alive was to live free of secrets; that keeping things buried inside would torment a person's soul. After that you said the best way to rid of them was by writing it down, placing it in a bottle, and sending it away. Then we did. Just you and me, with those two glass, off-brand cola bottles that actually had a screw on cap instead of a twist off that we got from the gas station on the way. We stood there and watched those two note filled bottles float away as the sun went down. You never told me what your secret was, but I'll tell you mine. My secret was that sometimes I thought if I had never been born that you would have days like that day every day, and I was okay with that, because then you would be that beautiful free-spirited woman that I rarely got to see; the one that everyone fell in love with."
More tears fall as I attempt to let everything from the past go. Her death paid it. It's time. "That was the last time I ever saw you like that. If I could take your place to change the woman you were I would. It fucking killed me to see the memories eating you alive. It made it worse that I was the reminder keeping the memories coming back to haunt you. What you never understood was that you weren't the only one hurting. I was hurting because you were hurting. I'm going to choose to remember you by that day and not all the bad days, because that was a great day. I lied, Mom. I don’t hate you. I never could, even when I wanted to. I forgive you for everything, and I love you. Goodbye, Mom. I hope you're no longer suffering, I really do, because you've been through enough."
I kiss her hand and lay it back down on the sheet, before wiping my face with the collar of my shirt, and then turn for the door. It opens before I get there, the medical examiner waiting on me. "You can get a police report and a copy of the death certificate as soon as it's complete. We'll notify you when the body is ready for release."
I nod and pass her, suddenly feeling unable to breathe. I need to get out of here. I need to hit something. I need to be mad, to be sad, and then to leave it all behind. I make it to the car and pull out my phone, immediately calling Kaston. He answers on the first ring. "Are you okay?"
"I changed my mind."
"About? Talk to me."
"You can make the arrangements. I want her cremated. No funeral. She didn't have anybody that would come. I don't want her to be a body with no one to say goodbye, in a place that she will be forgotten. I want her to rest where I remember her being happy: the beach. The one that she took me to when I was a kid."
"Okay. I'll take care of it."
"I'm about to go to the gym. You can come whenever you're ready."
"Okay. I'll be there shortly."
I remain silent for a few seconds. So does he. It's as if there are things we both want to say, but don't. "Kaston..."
"Yeah?"
"Thanks."
"Anything for you, beautiful."
"One more thing."
"What's that?"
"Will you go with me?"
"If you want me there, I will be."
"Okay. See you soon."
"See you soon," he repeats.
I disconnect the call, letting the phone slowly drop with my hand. Everything is hitting me full force like a metal pipe coming at my chest. My hands start shaking. "Breathe, just breathe."
I start the engine and back out of the parking space. I need physical relief, and I need it now. I just hope I can get there without fucking killing myself in this car.
I sit on the couch, leaning forward with my forearms on my thighs, tossing my phone from hand to hand; thinking. Maybe I should just fucking get out of here and hunt his ass down when I'm ready instead of sitting here waiting when I could be doing better things. There is always the chance he won’t show today. I've already contacted the moving company and Chevy is going to come wait on them to get all of her things. I'll deal with her lease later.
A knock sounds at the door, throwing my thoughts off. I look down at my watch. It's a little too early to be Chevy or the moving company. They may have worked fast last minute, but they aren't that quick. I look down beside me at the brass knuckles I got out of the truck earlier, along with the hand wrap. I'm not one hundred percent sure that it's him, but I'm just going w
ith my gut on this one. There is only one way to find out: silence.
I slide my phone into my pocket and grab the brass knuckles, sliding them on my fingers into place. I clench my fist to ensure they are in the correct spot, before grabbing the wrap and pulling free the end with the velcro, letting the rest of it roll down to the floor. "Lux, let me in. I know you're probably home by now. We need to talk about last night."
My jaw steels at the sound of that asshole's voice. I want to kill him, but I'm not...yet. Someone with that kind of money will be searched for. Conditions here aren't ideal. I'm not trying for thirty to life. I sit patiently and wrap my hand, covering the metal beneath, ready to disfigure that fucking face of his. Someone needs to break his Godlike power trip. It's going to be me.
I secure the wrap and stand, as another knock sounds at the door. "Lux, please open the door. I'm sorry." I make my way across the room and place my bare hand around the doorknob, turning it slowly. I pull the door open all the way, now standing before the cocky son of a bitch that looks like shit in his suit, as if he stayed up all night nursing a bottle of whiskey and then fell asleep at the bar.
"I don't think you're going to be seeing Lux today, but you are going to deal with me, you fucking asshole." I grab his tie in my hand and wrap it, minimizing the slack, and then pull him through the door as I take a step back. He starts trying to fight me, so I knee him in the fucking nuts, bringing him to his knees with his hands on his crotch. He obviously doesn't need them in working condition, because he doesn't know how to use them with respect to others. Everything is good when respected and used the way it was intended. Sex is good until you rape someone. Alcohol is great until you fucking kill someone from driving drunk. Controlled fighting has its benefits until you abuse a woman or child. Weapons are even good until you use it to kill an innocent person for your own sick entertainment. He may not want it, but he's about to get a lesson from me.
I slam the door with my foot. He tries to stand. At least he's attempting to be a man. He's just a sorry fucking excuse for one. I swing my fist into his jaw, knocking him onto the floor. His hands go to the floor, trying to push himself back up. "What is your fucking problem? You're really going to beat another man's ass that you don't even know over a whore that's spreading her legs for you as well as everyone else? What about bro code, dude? Doesn't it mean anything to you?"
“Again with that fucking term.” My fist collides with the side of his face again, this time in the eye. I squat, looking at him getting weaker on the floor with every hit. "You want me to tell you what my fucking problem is? My problem is sorry men like you that give the rest of us a bad rep. See, most normal men that get dumped moved on to other women. They get over it. You may be fucked up over it for a little while, but then someone else walks in front of you that catches your attention and all is forgotten; not men like you, though. Men like you feed off of control and power. Someone tells you no and you fucking snap, becoming obsessed with earning back that power, no matter who you hurt in the process."
He sits up and I punch him again in the mouth, this time drawing blood from the busted lip. He touches his finger to it and then looks at the red spot covering the tip of his finger. "I didn't say you could get up, asshole. I'm still talking. When I get up you can get up. This is nothing. I can go all day like this. This doesn't even have body weight behind it, so keep pissing me off and I'll show you a power punch. You're about to be my bitch for a little while, since you didn't believe me the first time I told you to get lost."
I raise my shirt, revealing the gun in the holster beneath it on my side. "Like I told you before, I'm not afraid to use it and I always carry. I don't think many people will miss you. While I'm at it let me tell you something, you little pussy. You ever call my girl a whore again I will fucking kill you, and then feed your body parts to sharks. Got it?"
He looks at me, the targets of my fist on his face already changing in color. "I have a wife and a kid on the way, asshole. Yeah, someone will miss me. What do you want?"
I release his tie and stand. He looks at me from the floor. "Stand up."
He pushes off the floor, straightening his jacket. "Are we done here?"
"Not even fucking close. You're about to fight me like a man. You're nothing but a cheating bastard. What men like you don’t realize is that you’re not only cheating on your spouse, but also on the person you’re cheating with. It’s an all around fucked up situation, and one I have no tolerance for. We're about to play a little game of trivia. Selfish responses get a hit. I'll even give you a freebie. Hit me."
He rotates his shoulders, loosening up. "You really want to do this."
"I said it, didn't I?"
"Are you fucking her?"
"Since you listened right outside that door, I think you know the answer to that question."
He swings into my face, hitting me low, on the side of the chin. I open my mouth, realigning my jaw. "Good, you agreed to play. Word of advice.... Only pussies run. Now it's my turn. Did you tell her when you met her that you were married?"
"No. It didn't matter. At the time she was a willing participant without asking any questions."
I reared back and hit him in the temple, putting my body weight into it. He stumbles into the wall. "Wrong fucking answer, asshole. You're married. You shouldn't be trying to fuck other women. What, is your wife not good enough for you? Do you think it's fair to her for you to be sticking your dick somewhere else and then coming home to her?"
He's acting like he's slightly out of it from the hit to the head. "Fucking answer me. I know that skull is a little thicker than that."
"She came on to me. I'm just a fucking man. Give me a break. We're all the same. We all think with our dicks before our heads. Then I got a taste and it was too late. I couldn't stop. I want her. I still do."
Rage, jealousy, and maddening mental images transpire into a mixture.
I nail him front and center: the nose. “Fuck,” he says as he places his hands to it immediately, trying to stop the bleeding. He moves it, blood dripping from his nose. “How does it feel? Getting my sloppy seconds. At least when I got it that pussy was a little tighter.” He laughs.
I hit him again, this time with everything I have, knocking him to the floor. He's out. I squat again and patiently wait for him to come to. People like him piss me off. It's always about themselves instead of the people that need them. Just like my mother, Lux's mother, and her sperm donor. People like them make the human race a disgrace.
His eyes finally open and he looks at me. I am no longer winded from the last hit. "You keep holding on to the last memory of her pussy, because that’s all you’ll have of her: a memory. It doesn’t bother me like you think it does to know you got her first, because the last is the only one that counts. You're wrong about us. We don't all think with our dicks in the way that it will hurt someone. You make a promise to someone you keep it. If you don't want it anymore you step away before you step out on your partner, but still keep your obligations. That, bro, is what separates the boys from the men. If you have a baby on the way then you're responsible for molding someone else into a productive member of society. If you can't do that, then get fucking snipped. I'm not leaving another kid without a parent, no matter how sorry you are, because there are enough out there already. Having enough respect for human life to let you go – that’s bro code. I'm going to tell you this one more time. Next time, consequences are all on you. I've made a promise to her. I will protect her, because I love her, and only her. She is good enough to be someone's only, not someone's secret. If you so much as look at Lux again, I won't hesitate to kill you, family left behind or not. This is your final warning. After this I'll never look back. For once, think of your fucking family. Now go back to where you came from before I change my mind."
I watch him stand, still squatting, as he makes his way to the door and leaves without saying a word, slamming the door behind him. "Fucking losers. The world is full of them."
My p
hone rings and I stand, removing it from my pocket. I answer and place the phone to my ear, listening. "I'm here. Where do you want me?"
"I'll bring you the keys. Let me know when they're done. Follow them to my house and they can leave everything in the living room. We will take care of the rest. Lock up when you're done. I'll get both sets of keys later."
"Okay. See you in a minute."
I return my phone to my pocket and unwrap my hand, removing the brass knuckles. I feel a little more relieved knowing that she will be with me from here on out. Working out suddenly feels needed, and remembering the way she looked in workout clothes makes going a must.
I pull up and grab my gym bag from the back seat, killing the engine. Everything is on schedule for the move, hopefully that fucking psychotic asshole is well on his way out of here, and the direction can start to point forward for her. I need to deal with a few more things I've put off. It's a little coincidental that we are actually members of the same gym, yet I’ve never seen her here, and I’ve been coming here for years. Sometimes even in a big city it's a small world.
I open the console and grab my member entry swipe card, before locking up and heading for the door. As the card reader approves the strip, I open the door on the green light signaling it's unlocked, and then head straight for the dressing room to change into my gym shorts and tee shirt. Five minutes tops and I'm shoving my bag into a locker, before locking the padlock and removing the key, bringing it with me. Making my way through the building, I glance around for her as I do. Then it hits me; that last time I saw her ready for a workout was actually at the martial arts studio attached on the back of this building, both under the same owner. Clearly that is something she likes.
I veer off in the direction toward it, pushing my way through the entryway doors that lead to the warehouse style add on that it's inside of. They open into a corridor that connects the two buildings without having to walk outside. I pass a wall lined with snack and drink machines, heading toward the double glass doors that lead inside. That's when I see her through the glass. I stop, wanting to memorize that shot.
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