To say that all criminals are the same is to stereotype in the most base and ignorant fashion. There is no one here like me. How I loathe these plebeian crooks! Their aspirations in life are so ultimately unimportant. They constitute no noble ambition or pure design. For the most part they are driven by greed: for money, for power, for sex. They can’t see past it.
My patience is wearing thin.
But the world will change. I know it. I must concentrate my energies on the moment when I shall be free to reclaim what is mine. What should have been mine all along. Like Katia herself.
Katia. Her death was a mistake. My only regret. Her lovely eyes stare back at me in my dreams, dead and vacant. Blood in her magnificent hair. She haunts me, my one regret, the sweetest of loves.
But one regret focuses a man’s will. Deepens his convictions. Forces him to confront himself. Spurs him on to attain his goals and master his own hubris. This introspection is a test of courage. To regret is to acknowledge one’s humanity and weakness. That is the first step toward strength. Yes, one regret is of utmost importance. But two regrets would merely amount to failure. And I do not intend to fail. I shall escape this meaningless purgatory of prison. My brother will pay for putting me here. And Gaia will soon be mine.
This time forever.
rock-and-roll lightning
it was whatever came in a close second to fear: some nerve-splaying, bone-charging kind of anticipation that felt crazy and sane all at the same time.
“SO I’M, LIKE, THINKING THIS place will give me the killer haircut of my life.” Megan Stein moaned as Heather and her friends stepped into the lunch line. “But I go home looking like a hair commercial, and I wake up looking like a blond Ronald McDonald.” Megan glanced behind her, her eyes wide in a very obvious plea for a pat on the back.
Potential Pouffing-Out Factor
“You so do not look like a blond Ronald McDonald,” Tina Lynch soothed, right on cue. “You so do not.”
“Heather, what do you think?” Megan whined, her hand flying up again to smooth down (and show off) her newly and expensively coifed hair. “I am so completely dying over this cut!”
What a tragedy, Heather thought, keeping her sarcasm silent. She knew the deal. Oh, yes. Now she had to compliment Megan. She had to tell Megan that not only did she not resemble the blond Ronald McDonald, not even faintly; moreover, she looked incredible. Like a supermodel. The sad thing was, the old Heather would have no problem with this. This ritual of fishing for compliments, this routine of affirmation, was so tightly woven into the fabric of their lives that none of them even noticed it anymore. Every single one of her friends, especially Megan, always turned to her, Heather, for a pat on the back.
But Heather had bigger things to worry about than the potential pouffing-out factor of Megan’s new hairdo. She could only mumble the faintest grunt of a wishy-washy “you-look-great” before picking out a chicken sandwich. She bit her lip, momentarily tasting her Kiehl’s peppermint lip balm. Which, come to think of it, was yet another thing she’d have to ration. Because she could no longer afford even that most minor of luxuries.
“I look so fat with this cut.” Megan groaned, apparently not picking up on Heather’s lack of enthusiasm—or maybe trying desperately to get Heather to commiserate. “Can someone please tell me why this cafeteria insists on supplying us with only the most fattening foods?”
“So disgusting,” Tina agreed, averting her eyes from a dish of mashed potatoes. “I mean, look at all that starch! Clearly they cater only to the Amazonians of this world, like Gaia Moore. Or else to the bulimics.”
All the girls sniggered together.
Except Heather. She was horrified. The pit of her stomach hardened. Jokes about bulimics weren’t exactly a laugh a minute right now. Not since her sister, Phoebe, had been hospitalized for full-fledged anorexia and was evidently not getting any better—even though Heather’s unemployed father had bankrupted the Gannis family on the most expensive care Manhattan could offer. Heather turned to her friends, hurt clouding her eyes. And then she remembered why they were being so insensitive. They had no idea about Phoebe. Or her parents’ bankruptcy. Or anything else that mattered to her.
Only Ed knew. And only Ed cared.
Scanning over the top of Megan’s perfectly shagged new head, Heather searched the cafeteria for Ed. Yes, they were going through a rough patch, but Heather needed to be with him right now. She needed to feel like she actually existed as a human being, not just a style barometer. At least fighting reminds you that you’re human, she thought wistfully, recalling the recent misunderstandings and tensions. But maybe this time, at lunch, she and Ed could just talk, be together. They could just eat the god-damned starchy mashed potatoes—
That was when she spotted him. At the far corner table. With Gaia.
Instantly Heather’s heart squeezed. Her blood felt like it was turning to ice. What the hell was Gaia even doing here, anyway? Wasn’t she supposed to be off in Europe or something? Maybe Ed’s weirdness didn’t have to do with their little bargain. Ed had blown her off yesterday on the phone; he’d stiffed her earlier today. Maybe this was about Gaia.
Every time Gaia Moore turned up in Heather’s world, she ruined everything. With her Greek goddess name and looks, she caused trouble everywhere she went. They should have named her Nemesis, Heather thought miserably, following Tina, Megan, and the others to a table. That’s Greek, isn’t it? A hollow laugh escaped her lips. The knot in her stomach disentangled and then re-formed, harder than before. Heather felt like she’d swallowed a crystal. Or a splinter of glass. Unconsciously her eyes wandered back to Ed and Gaia.
There’s no way Ed would tell Gaia about what he agreed to do for me, is there?
No. Of course not. Ed loved her. And she loved him. She had no doubts about that. They trusted each other. But still, deep down, she knew she was compromising that love and trust by asking him to hang on to his settlement—to discourage anyone from thinking he would walk again so as to help Heather’s family financially.
She was barely conscious of slumping down between Megan and Tina. At least they were being polite to her. That was something. Recently they’d treated her like dirt. They’d drop her in a second if they knew she was broke, too. God, it was an awful mixture, love and money. Heather didn’t have a choice not to take this path. She had to help her family. Even if it meant risking her relationship with Ed.
Because if she didn’t help them, who would?
“OH, GOD, GAIA,” SAM MURMURED, wrapping Gaia tightly in his arms. “I’m so sorry. I’m so,so sorry....”
Soap Opera Cliché
Gaia found herself surrendering to his embrace. It was so strange: She was fearless, powerful, strong, a fighter. But in Sam’s presence she was powerless to resist a simple hug. She’d walked into this dorm room with every intention of scolding him for their missed date. She had planned to let him have it—to tell him about her whole encounter with the burglar, about waking up alone in his hall and staggering home, about buying the rose and throwing it away... but the moment Sam had seen her, he’d apologized profusely and then begun to kiss the nape of her neck.
And in seconds, somehow every ounce of anger and annoyance had slipped from her mind.
She still wasn’t used to this. The feeling that she’d just swallowed a ten-pound bag of Pop Rocks or turned into one five-foot, ten-inch-tall circuit board. Her body transformed into a map of electrical nerve centers that fired off whenever Sam’s mouth grazed hers, whenever his fingers touched her skin. Her reaction was so completely predictable: Sam came near, she went haywire. Every time. But its predictability didn’t make it any less thrilling.
Before she knew it, they were collapsing onto Sam’s bed, and Sam’s arms were wrapping around her upper body. She kissed his neck, feeling the pulse beat against her lips.
“You are so beautiful,” Sam murmured. His hand slid gently from her shoulders, caressing the exposed small of her back just below her T-shirt. G
aia’s heart hammered. And as he brought his mouth to hers for a slow, deep kiss, she trembled. Nothing could be more perfect than this moment. Sam’s kiss grew urgent, his palm tightening around Gaia’s right hand, pressing it flat and smooth against the sheets on his bed.
“I want you,” he whispered, his voice husky and full of need.
As if watching herself from afar, Gaia broke from the kiss. Her breath came fast. She gazed into Sam’s beautifully kaleidoscopic, cut-glass eyes—the amber color burning with feeling and raw energy. Whatever had been worrying Sam seemed to have vanished. Now he was all passionate intensity and focus.
“I want you, too,” she murmured in response. She wanted to be clear:This was the moment she’d been waiting for since she’d first laid eyes on Sam. The dingy room seemed to spin around her. This is it, she realized. A sweat broke on her palms. The time had come. Now. Apparently Gaia’s life could have a good surprise, too, every now and then—not just an endless onslaught of betrayal and pain and violence spilling out of every gutter in the city.
Sam stared back at her, attentive.
“I’m ready,” Gaia whispered. She brought a hand to Sam’s strong jaw, traced the shape of it with her fingers. This is it, she said to herself once more. It seemed that all her life had been a climb to this peak of experience. It was the right time to lose her virginity to the one guy she knew she’d never regret loving.
Of course, she was also kind of skittery.
Not scared, obviously, since. . . well,yeah. . . but it was whatever came in a close second to fear: some nerve-splaying, bone-charging kind of anticipation that felt crazy and sane all at the same time.
Her eyes swept to the desk drawer. She knew Sam kept the condoms in there. They’d bought them together. Her face reddened a little—with a mixture of shyness and embarrassment but a desire to at least have them ready. To be on the safe side...
“No,” Sam said. His voice seemed to float from nowhere.
Gaia turned to him, eyes wide. “What do you mean?” she asked. The words were little more than a whisper.
Sam smiled, catching her hand and bringing it to his lips. “That didn’t sound right,” he murmured. “Gaia, you have to understand—of course I want to do this. It’s all I ever think about, if you want to know the truth. But I also want the moment to be special. Not here in this hellhole room that I haven’t cleaned for a week.”
Gaia couldn’t quite fathom the words. What was he so worried about? She’d been in this dump over a dozen times. She didn’t need candles. Or flowers. She had no desire to know Victoria’s Secret, and she had no need of any other tacky ceremonial shit. The act would speak for itself. All they needed was each other.
“The right moment?” Gaia asked, her voice breaking slightly. “Don’t you know anything about me, Sam Moon? My life isn’t exactly made up of right moments. I kind of have to take them where I can get them....” She trailed off, threaded a hand through Sam’s hair. Enough of this dillydallying already. She leaned closer to him.
Silently Sam covered Gaia’s mouth with his, his teeth grazing her lower lip, his hand clamped firmly to the space between Gaia’s shoulder blades. He didn’t need to say anything. Gaia knew that he got it. Got her.
His weight pressed down on top of her, and for once Gaia felt small and delicate—not some hulking giant of a girl. She could feel the desire hammering there in his chest with every heartbeat. She found herself pulling Sam’s shirt off over his head as he kissed her neck. She didn’t think she could take much more of this. She was as ready as she would ever be, and every hope and prayer and even doubt and missed opportunity had converged and conspired to bring her to this moment—
Brring!
Crap.
Sam jerked up, narrowing his eyes.
“Ignore it,” Gaia whispered, reaching for him.
But he didn’t. With an apology flickering across his face, he jumped up off the bed and snatched up the phone—as if this were just any old moment that had just passed. As if they weren’t about to make love for the first time. As if whoever was on the other end of the phone could really be so important. . . more important than the most beautiful moment in Gaia Moore’s life to date. She couldn’t believe it—
“Okay,” Sam mumbled curtly into the receiver. He hung up without another word, then looked up at Gaia reluctantly. She could see sheepishness in his face and something else, too. Guilt. Well, good. He deserved to feel guilty. She swallowed, not quite sure how she was feeling. The excitement and urgency had faded, leaving only. . . emptiness. And a little anger as well.
“Who was it?” Gaia asked as nonchalantly as possible. She sat up straight and smoothed down the bird’s nest of hair.
He lowered his eyes. “Um, Keon,” he said. “I have to go to the library. I... forgot we had a study date. God, I’m really sorry.” His voice was low, and his expression had changed; it was still partly guilty, but there was now another emotion that Gaia couldn’t place. For want of a better word, he just looked. . . strange. Strained and spaced out at the same time.
Gaia opened her mouth to say something, then thought better of it. A chill spread across her back as she fumbled for her sweatshirt on the floor. She felt suddenly like an idiot, like some soap opera cliché, panting at her man to ignore the phone when clearly he had other plans. Some dumb blonde. She would gladly bet Sam a hundred bucks that it wasn’t Keon who had called. Sam was a lousy liar. But for whatever reason, he’d needed an excuse not to go through with the ultimate act at this moment.
Maybe you were just saved, an inner voice said as Gaia pushed herself out of the bed in silent anger. Saved from wasting your virginity. And Gaia had to concede that her inner voice had a point. Maybe Sam was right about wanting to wait. Maybe she should wait, too.
Maybe sex, that ultimate act of trust and knowing, wasn’t such a good idea if your boyfriend was hiding things from you.
“GET READY TO SING WITH ME, Eddie. Get ready!”
A Signature Event
Brian was growling in Ed’s face as per usual, the veins bulging out of his tree-trunk neck, his face turning all shades of red. Ed still hadn’t worked up the courage to ask Brian if he’d ever been a professional wrestler. It didn’t seem much of a stretch—given his massive frame, his long black hair, and his apparent need to growl every single word at top volume. Yes. Ed’s physical therapist might very well be insane, but he was also an ingenious motivator. Ed felt totally pumped at the end of every session.
Ed grasped the parallel bars that took up most of the available floor space in his room. His wheelchair stayed outside the door in the hall. It was fitting somehow. The chair had no place in here. Not anymore. This was where Ed walked. And where Shred rocked. Brian threw a CD into the stereo and flipped the volume knob. The deafening crunch of some vaguely familiar rap-metal band burst from the speakers.
“Let’s make some noise, Eddie!” Brian shouted.
For a second Ed almost felt like laughing—at least until the sweat broke on his forehead. As the music blared, Ed took one painstakingly slow, agonizing “step” at a time. They weren’t really steps; he supported all his weight with his arms. The hope was that by standing upright, his newly improved legs would get used to the position. The pain was awful, shooting through his arms. But he welcomed it. Because the moment he felt that same pain in his legs, he knew he would be halfway recovered.
Brian spotted him but never supported him. Ed’s red face began to drip as he moved farther and farther toward the end of the bars. Just a few more feet...
“Come on, Eddie!” Brian hollered. “One more step! Do it for Wes Borland, baby. That guy rocks.”
Ed pushed himself to take another step. Wes Borland? He had no idea what Brian was talking about, of course—but then, he rarely did.
“You’re doing it, you stud,” Brian encouraged him, literally spitting in Ed’s ear. “Now bring it on back. You’re rock-and-roll lightning, baby!”
Ed’s heart pounded in time with the mu
sic. He grinned through the agony as he began his journey back across the bars—moaning with every aching maneuver and loving every minute of it. He focused on the goals, the final results of all this torture: walking down the street without anyone staring at him for a change, getting on the bus via the front door, a dance with Heather, a walk with Gaia, anything else with Gaia...just standing next to Gaia....
And then he felt something.
Something big. Something he definitely hadn’t felt before.
There was a huge tingling sensation running down his entire left leg.
He shook the leg ever so slightly—which is to say, his brain told the leg to shake, and the leg shook.
“Holy shit!” Ed screamed.
“What’s up, dude?” Brian yelled back with a massive grin. “Did you feel something? Tell me you freakin’ felt something,baby!”
But Ed was too jubilant for words. The pain was forgotten. It was happening. It was actually happening! It wasn’t a dream; it wasn’t an illusion. He’d moved his legs! A wave of sheer ecstasy washed over him as he realized the truth—that the surgery had been a success, that his work was paying off, that he would and could walk again... that Brian was truly a genius.
“I...!”
And then Ed stopped himself. He stopped himself cold, before he let himself utter another word. At that moment all the ecstasy spilled out of his body—as swiftly as if a plug had been pulled. He was left with a numb void. A black hole in the center of his chest. Because he couldn’t tell Brian what had just happened. He couldn’t tell anyone. The only person he could tell probably didn’t even want to hear it. And for one split second Ed truly hated Heather—for the lies, for the deception, for the promises she’d forced on him.
She’d just robbed him of one of the most amazing moments of his life.
“Eddie?” Brian growled over the music. “Did you feel something?”
In spite of everything inside him, against all his better judgment, Ed managed to shake his head. “No,” he said almost inaudibly. “I thought I did....”
Tears Page 4
