Page 4 of Trig

She doesn’t immediately respond. The silence drills into me and I can’t bear it.

“Is he…is he okay? Is he alive?”

I clench my teeth, while some small fraction inside of me clings to an ounce of hope. She still hasn’t said a single word.

“I’m sorry. He didn’t make it. He arrived here—”

I can’t even really understand the rest of what she says. My stomach drops. My heart sinks. The bottle in my hand falls, and just like a revolving door, the pain hits again. Tender wounds from my father leaving, and my mother dying, opened wide up, making room for yet another loss, Hunter. Tragedy after tragedy left me feeling like this joint called earth was a place I no longer wanted to be living in. I was ready to call it quits. Hunter was dead and I wanted to be in his shoes, because I didn’t want to bury another fucking family member.

I spent the next morning praying to God to take me, too. I’d had enough. Once again, I put on my armor of strength and mustered barely enough to plan his burial. When it was time, Torrie came for Hunter's funeral. I was shocked. I had no idea how to notify her of his passing and yet she was here. It told me she had connections in this area. Someone was updating her, but who? It didn’t really matter. She didn’t stay long. It’s almost as if she couldn’t bear to stand in her feelings.

Before she ran off again, we had a quick moment. She stood there in her black dress, sun-kissed hair swept up with tears running down her cheek. Neither of us knew what to say. So much time had passed. We didn’t have to talk though; it was all in the eyes. Both of us were painfully standing there like two empty vessels stuck in a stare-off. She broke the silence by saying how much I looked like Mom, which seemed to stir her up even more. She grabbed me, roughly pulled me in and kissed me on the cheek and then she pulled away, apologizing a million times. My hand reached out for hers, but instead of grabbing it, she pulled away, sobbing, and without notice, she turned, quickly running off until she vanished into the fog. I didn’t know how to cope with anything, so I let her go. I let her run, knowing she was the only thing I had left in this Godforsaken place and I let her do it because she wanted to. I couldn’t fucking stop her. I couldn’t make her stay here and crumble with me.

Be free, caged bird. Be free. One of us needs to be.

The next evening, I found myself at the gym, punching bags with no gloves on until my fists went numb, and my knuckles bled. I collapsed on the mat, sweaty and tired with blood dripping down my fingertips. Pissed off and running on empty is about where I was emotionally.

“You look like your brother,” a man’s voice boomed above me.

“And you are?” I asked; shooting up from the floor while mad-dogging him and the two large men that stood behind him.

“On the streets, they call me The Savior, but you can call me Boss.” He smiled.

“Get the fuck outta here, man. This is not the time for whatever this is.”

I turned to the bags, punching hard, ignoring the asshole in the clean black suit.

“You owe me, and you will work off your brother’s debt or your sister Torrie will die. All I need to do is make one phone call, and just like that, she’s gone. It’s your choice, Trig.”

The mention of my sister jolted me. The fact that he knew my name was unsettling. This man called The Savior then shoved a picture of Torrie and her happy little family in my face. I didn’t even know she had kids. Married maybe, but kids? Holy Shit! I stopped punching as I stared at it and took it all in. What in the actual fuck was happening?

I was petrified at first. This strange man and his two monstrous-sized, armed bodyguards stood before me with a deadly offer. One that would have resulted in killing my sister should I have refused. I was still grieving, just barely burying my dead brother Hunter not but twenty-four hours prior, and now I have to work off the debt caused by his death.

“Why me?”

“Who else would be filled with enough anger to wipe out a country? He who still walks the earth carrying the pain of his murdered brother. Just think of it as revenge, a personal payback for both of us. The man you will be seeking has disrespected me, stolen my drugs, and killed your brother, who happened to be one of my top sellers. I’m offering you a gift, boy. I suggest you take it.” The Savior grinned.

“And what’s the gift?”

“A license to kill.”

“You want me to work for you as a murderer?” I question.

He nods just once. “Now take the gift or I'll make the call!”

I felt resentment toward Hunter for putting Torrie and me in this situation. I felt angry that my brother was dead. I felt livid that this criminal was standing in front of me making serious threats, and my only option was to say yes, I’d kill for him. Who the fuck was this guy, strolling up in my gym, getting in my face, and making me choose to be something I clearly wasn’t, something I never thought I’d ever be. The darkest of all professions. A killer.

It wasn’t easy to answer him, but I’d do anything to keep my sister Torrie safe. I gritted my teeth and nodded at the man with the scar on his face. It made me sick to see the look of satisfaction he wore so proudly in his dark eyes. There would be nothing satisfying about becoming a murderer. Just the idea of playing God and taking someone’s life made my stomach turn. He described this as if it was temporary. I knew deep in my heart that once I started doing this, I wouldn’t be able to quit. They wouldn’t let me. They would own me. You don’t just walk away from that life, not after what they make you do. You want out? Then you die right along with all the secrets you hold.

***

Displeased by my first attempt to kill, The Savior punished me by delivering me to his boss Carmen. He’s the cruelest man alive, a sadist, and his house of torture would be just the thing I needed according to good old scar face. He laughed and mumbled something to me about how I’d be a changed man when I came out. At that moment, I didn’t know what he meant, but the second I was dragged into that house, and those front doors slammed closed, I knew I was there to be broken, and they’d not only break me but shatter me into a million fucking pieces.

It took but a mere five days. Five days of torture, humiliation, and a psychotic meltdown made me submit to be a darker version of myself.

Day 1: Two unknown men strip me naked, chain me up by my arms, and take turns beating and whipping me repeatedly until I pass out. Later, they drag me into a cold, dark, cellar, and throw me on an old, ripped, dusty bed. I’m weak, shaking, still naked, and profusely bleeding. The mattress coils push against the wounds on my skin and it pains me to breathe. My face is wet and I don’t even know if its blood, sweat, or tears. My vision is blurred, my skin is on fire and my throat feels dry. I am almost wishing to die so that this torture is over. My body decides it’s had enough, and to help me survive this trauma, it takes over, shuts itself down, and I black out again.

Day 2: I wake, lying on the mattress, arms stretched over my head, tied to the wall behind the bed while a woman I don’t know gives me head. She laughs as I become more aware and then she introduces herself as Natasha. Carmen’s eldest daughter. If Satan had a daughter, Natasha would be it, hands down. Fucking psycho. She then forces herself on me and begins to slap, punch, and choke me during sex. Somewhere in the process, I lose consciousness. When I wake, she’s gone.

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