“Tank, stop! You’re killing him. Please.” Emma’s voice filters through the rage and I come back down to see the man is completely unconscious. I stagger back and collapse on the sidewalk.
“Oh my god, you’re bleeding.” Her hands come away from my arm smeared with blood. Until then I hadn’t even noticed the searing burn on my forearm. He must have sliced me before dropping the knife.
“What were you doing?” she whispers. When I look up, she’s watching my face closely. “You weren’t even trying to get away.”
I can’t answer that but she must see the truth in my eyes. I wasn’t trying to get away, I was engaging. I was participating.
I was enjoying it.
“We have to get out of here. You need to go to the hospital.” She helps me to my feet, looping my good arm around her neck.
“No hospital. Just drive me home.”
“But Tank, your arm—”
“Please, Emma. I need you.”
The words hang there between us again and they take on a whole new meaning now. Her hand around my waist tightens.”Okay, let’s go.”
The mugger’s knife is on the concrete next to him. I kick it away and then pull away from her so I can lean down and rummage through his jacket. There’s a wad of cash tucked into the inner pocket. Probably all the money he’s stolen from other victims tonight.
“Tank? What are you doing?”
I grip the money in my right hand as she leads me away. As we pass by, I stuff the bills in the homeless man’s cup.
“Donating to charity.”
Emma’s hands are shaking as she grips the steering wheel. The look on her face back there in the alley. It was a kind of déjà vu. The horror and fear. Some of it directed at me. She’s seen the real me now. She’s seen the rage I can’t control.
“Will you stay with me tonight?”
She hesitates and then I’m sure the answer will be no. There are reasons, valid reasons that it’s a bad idea for us to get attached. She’s trying to get her education back on track and I’ve already got my hands full dealing with my family situation. If we could have picked a worse time to meet, I can’t think of when it would be. But none of that matters when I’m on the edge and all I want is to see her face.
“Yes. I’ll stay with you.” She glances at me once and then turns her attention back to the road. Her expression tells me nothing. Maybe she’s staying with me because she’s worried about me. I don’t know and don’t care. I have her for tonight and that’s all that matters.
One more night of peace.
She pulls up in front of my building and parks. For a moment, I don’t move, just sit watching her. I take a deep breath. The terrifying panic that’s been riding me since I left the hotel recedes a little.
“Have you ever done the wrong thing for the right reasons?”
She’s watching me with those big gray eyes and it feels like she can see straight through me. I’ve held it together until now but with one look, she disarms me.
“I would do anything for my mom, even make nice with my father, when I know he’s up to something. But what if it’s not enough?” My blurted words convey my deepest fear.
My anger toward my father has fueled me over the years, carried me through all the hard times, the loneliness, the worry that my mother was working so hard to take care of us. Letting go of that, even for a good cause, threatens my whole foundation.
If I don’t hate him, then who am I?
My hatred has defined me for so long that I’m lost without it. Now I’m taking his money and allowing him back into my life.
What if I’ve sold my soul to the devil and it still doesn’t save her?
“Let’s go inside. I really want to look at your arm. I can at least clean the cut.”
Once we’re inside, Emma pushes me to the table. It’s odd to submit myself to her care. She’s never been the forceful type but my injury seems to have triggered her mother hen instincts. I show her where the first aid kit is located then sit as still as a child while she fusses over me, swabbing the long slice on my arm with peroxide and then wrapping it with an Ace bandage.
I could have done the bandage myself in less time and with a better result but it’s oddly comforting to have her leaning over me, so concerned. Her warm manner wraps around me and pervades the darkness that’s been in me since this afternoon.
When I agreed to see my father, I couldn’t have anticipated the negative emotions it would dredge up for me. It’s been years and I thought it was behind me. But there’s no doubt that seeing him tonight has unleashed something in me. Something I’m not sure how to put back.
“Come on. Let’s go to bed.”
I don’t even have the heart to tease her or make a suggestive comment. She tugs on my other arm until I rise from the table. Then she pushes me down the hall and into the bedroom.
She leans down and pushes her shoes under the bed. Then she takes off her earrings and opens the bedside drawer to drop them in. All the color drains from her face. She stands and backs away until she hits the opposite wall. Her breathing quickens, shallow breaths that sound like gasping.
“Emma, what—”
“I can’t. I just can’t.” Then she bursts into tears.
My mouth falls open. The nightstand still hangs open so I walk over and peer in. My Glock 19 sits squarely in the middle of the drawer.
“Oh my god, you’re bleeding.” Her hands come away from my arm smeared with blood. Until then I hadn’t even noticed the searing burn on my forearm. He must have sliced me before dropping the knife.
“What were you doing?” she whispers. When I look up, she’s watching my face closely. “You weren’t even trying to get away.”
I can’t answer that but she must see the truth in my eyes. I wasn’t trying to get away, I was engaging. I was participating.
I was enjoying it.
“We have to get out of here. You need to go to the hospital.” She helps me to my feet, looping my good arm around her neck.
“No hospital. Just drive me home.”
“But Tank, your arm—”
“Please, Emma. I need you.”
The words hang there between us again and they take on a whole new meaning now. Her hand around my waist tightens.”Okay, let’s go.”
The mugger’s knife is on the concrete next to him. I kick it away and then pull away from her so I can lean down and rummage through his jacket. There’s a wad of cash tucked into the inner pocket. Probably all the money he’s stolen from other victims tonight.
“Tank? What are you doing?”
I grip the money in my right hand as she leads me away. As we pass by, I stuff the bills in the homeless man’s cup.
“Donating to charity.”
Emma’s hands are shaking as she grips the steering wheel. The look on her face back there in the alley. It was a kind of déjà vu. The horror and fear. Some of it directed at me. She’s seen the real me now. She’s seen the rage I can’t control.
“Will you stay with me tonight?”
She hesitates and then I’m sure the answer will be no. There are reasons, valid reasons that it’s a bad idea for us to get attached. She’s trying to get her education back on track and I’ve already got my hands full dealing with my family situation. If we could have picked a worse time to meet, I can’t think of when it would be. But none of that matters when I’m on the edge and all I want is to see her face.
“Yes. I’ll stay with you.” She glances at me once and then turns her attention back to the road. Her expression tells me nothing. Maybe she’s staying with me because she’s worried about me. I don’t know and don’t care. I have her for tonight and that’s all that matters.
One more night of peace.
She pulls up in front of my building and parks. For a moment, I don’t move, just sit watching her. I take a deep breath. The terrifying panic that’s been riding me since I left the hotel recedes a little.
“Have you ever done the wrong thing for the right reasons?”
She’s watching me with those big gray eyes and it feels like she can see straight through me. I’ve held it together until now but with one look, she disarms me.
“I would do anything for my mom, even make nice with my father, when I know he’s up to something. But what if it’s not enough?” My blurted words convey my deepest fear.
My anger toward my father has fueled me over the years, carried me through all the hard times, the loneliness, the worry that my mother was working so hard to take care of us. Letting go of that, even for a good cause, threatens my whole foundation.
If I don’t hate him, then who am I?
My hatred has defined me for so long that I’m lost without it. Now I’m taking his money and allowing him back into my life.
What if I’ve sold my soul to the devil and it still doesn’t save her?
“Let’s go inside. I really want to look at your arm. I can at least clean the cut.”
Once we’re inside, Emma pushes me to the table. It’s odd to submit myself to her care. She’s never been the forceful type but my injury seems to have triggered her mother hen instincts. I show her where the first aid kit is located then sit as still as a child while she fusses over me, swabbing the long slice on my arm with peroxide and then wrapping it with an Ace bandage.
I could have done the bandage myself in less time and with a better result but it’s oddly comforting to have her leaning over me, so concerned. Her warm manner wraps around me and pervades the darkness that’s been in me since this afternoon.
When I agreed to see my father, I couldn’t have anticipated the negative emotions it would dredge up for me. It’s been years and I thought it was behind me. But there’s no doubt that seeing him tonight has unleashed something in me. Something I’m not sure how to put back.
“Come on. Let’s go to bed.”
I don’t even have the heart to tease her or make a suggestive comment. She tugs on my other arm until I rise from the table. Then she pushes me down the hall and into the bedroom.
She leans down and pushes her shoes under the bed. Then she takes off her earrings and opens the bedside drawer to drop them in. All the color drains from her face. She stands and backs away until she hits the opposite wall. Her breathing quickens, shallow breaths that sound like gasping.
“Emma, what—”
“I can’t. I just can’t.” Then she bursts into tears.
My mouth falls open. The nightstand still hangs open so I walk over and peer in. My Glock 19 sits squarely in the middle of the drawer.
