Page 13 of Trig

I scoff.

“Do you think there were candles and romantic music playing while I slowly made love to her on a bed of roses? I didn’t even know her name. Some terrified young escort scared for her life. There was a fucking gun to my head while Carmen basically coordinated every movement of my dick while he and another girl watched. Men were viewing from a live feed probably jerking off. It was humiliating, and degrading, and when we were done, Carmen killed her. He fucking put a bullet in her head because of the things I said to him, and I spent the rest of the night burying her. She died because of me, because of my anger, because I didn’t want to do any of it. What you planned and almost did and what I actually did are not the same thing. That is the fucking difference. There wasn’t a gun to your head. You did it by choice. That’s why I’m pissed.”

“It must have been so hard fucking that pretty girl,” she says. I squint my eyes at her. Did she not hear what I just said? She quickly covers her mouth for a second. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. I don’t know why I said that. I’m feeling a lot of things.” She pauses. “That story is disgusting and sad and I don’t know how to process it because…because everything about what you just said hurts my soul. I’m angry with Carmen, with you, and also with myself due to my choices and I’m trying to take in everything and I don’t know what piece of information to grab on to first. Forgive me.”

I’m looking at her and having a hard time myself. I have ten different emotions running through me. I can’t blame her for thinking what she did, saying shitty things, or having natural reactions. I understand the pain. I understand her wanting to hurt me, and she has. She doesn’t need to do or say anything else. She let another man in my house, and almost between her legs. She didn’t even ask me if I was cheating before she went and did what she did. She just wanted revenge.

“He kissed you. You stopped him. Why? If you’re pissed at me because you thought I was cheating, why did you stop?”

She looks up at me and takes a breath first. “Because I love you, Trig. I always have and I always will, and if there was a chance that I was wrong, I’d never forgive myself.”

I squat down for a second and stare hard into her eyes. I scan every inch of her face and she’s not lying. Part of me wants to embrace her and part of me wants to flip over tables. I suddenly imagine some fucker kissing and groping her and I can’t breathe. I quickly stand up and grab my chest. I am shutting this down now. There is too much shit to talk about and I think we’re both running on empty at this point. This conversation is a whole lot of ‘what the fucks’ and pieces are flying all over the place. Both of us are scattered. We should be discussing the fact that I am killing again for the safety of this family. We should be discussing what our next move is, but the only thing we both want to know about right now is who is fucking whom. The thought of some fuck-face in my house sends me into a spiral again.

“I’m going to bed. We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

She shoots up. I start to walk past her, but she grabs my arm.

“Trig.”

I stop and turn toward her with eyes ablaze.

“I’m sorry. You’re sorry. It’s all fucked up,” she says.

“Yeah. I am sorry because tomorrow when I wake up, I want answers. The guy that was here. I want his name and his address. You just signed his death certificate.”

“Don’t do this.”

“This is about respect, Nine. You know how this game works. Someone has to pay. Take some fucking notes.”

I walk into the bedroom, pick up that empty wine bottle, and smash it against the wall. I don’t know how to do this. I can’t juggle a family while doing this shit. I can’t love her the way she needs it. I can’t protect Mya the way I want to. I am failing at my job as a man and I can’t deal.

Chapter 3. Kick his flamingo over

I’m standing in a large pool filled with blood, and from below, the dead girl from Vegas rises up and grabs my shirt collar. She keeps asking me to save her, but I can’t speak or move. She just sinks lower and lower until she disappears again and then a hand reaches up and pulls me down. I’m struggling to keep my head afloat. My heart is racing because I’m not ready to die, and just as I’m about to go under, I wake up. I’m pouring sweat and I feel sick. I throw back the covers and jump out of bed. I haul ass to the bathroom, slam the door, and start puking my guts out.

“Trig, you okay?” Nine asks from outside the door.

I dry my face and reply. “Yeah. Everything is fine.”

She doesn’t respond. I stay in there trying to shake the last of it off. When I finally do come out, Nine is in the kitchen making breakfast and Mya is sitting at the table eating.

“Morning, lovebug,” I say, with as much forced cheerfulness as I can.

“Morning,” Mya replies as she shoves eggs in her mouth.

Nine brings me over a plate and sets it down. I can see her looking at me, but I don’t glance up. I’m not quite ready to handle this. Maybe after coffee. She quietly sits down and slides me a napkin.

“I’m supposed to ask what happened to you?” Mya says.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“A big man came to my school yesterday during recess. He stood outside the fence. He told me to ask my daddy what happened to him in Vegas. What is Vegas?”

Right then Nine starts to faint, sliding off her chair.

“Woah!” I yell.

I reach out and grab her before she hits the floor. I gently lay her body down on the carpet in the living room, being careful with her head.

---