Page 130 of Deceit

“Ready now?” Marty asks as I snatch another arrow, listening to another male voice squeal out in pain.

Kyson is having his own fun and this is therapy for me.

“These streets don’t talk, motherfucker,” he seethes through his teeth. His chest heaving unsteadily from the pain. I answer him with an arrow to the ear. “Youmissed.”

Humor laces in his tone as Marty tears it from the red mat off the wall behind him and bayonets it into his back.

“No, he didn’t,” Marty muses in his ear, chuckling that eerie little tone that he does when he’s delighted at the torment of others.

Mad Dog bows over for the first time, the ropes around his wrists keeping him upward. He’s gone whiter, his brown curls alluding sweat along his brow.

Mad Dog’s dark eyes flutter as he struggles to catch his breath. Kyson steals a glance at me, another unsaid message that we’re going to have to start eliminating bodies pretty quickly here if we don’t get anything else.

Mad Dog’s mouth curls into a sinister smile. “Fuck you, Pocahantas.”

My cell goes off in my pocket and I pull the blunt from my lips, hoisting my bow over my shoulder to answer it in case Mills needs us.

Emmy: I’m sorry. You’ll never know how much.

Emmy: Forget me and all the things that we did. You’re too special to mourn a girl who couldn’t let it go and accept you for who you are.

I stare at the white letter on my phone.

Her plea for me to let her go. That she realized my thoughts and fears but couldn’t live with them.

She doesn’t know how much I want to block her from my mind. That it’s not something I can snap my fingers and do.

I loved you and now you’re gone.

I want to send those words so agonizingly so, but it’s not worth the response or the lingering thing that is us. That she still needs to have the final word and decision in this. How she couldn’t just fucking love me and allow me time.

“I’m not spitting shit!” Mad Dog roars out, causing me to shove my cell back into my pocket.

Forget me and all the things we did.

Sure, no problem.

And two seconds later, I’m piercing my own makeshift heart to make it stop beating when I pierce the tip of my arrow into Mad Dog’s chest.

Our love is dead.

And so is Kyson’s informant.

“What is the color of your sister’s bridesmaid’s dresses?” I yell at Alexander who is showering in my bathroom. “I don’t want to clash.”

“You’re talking to the wrong person,” he hollers back as the shower shuts off. “The only reason why I remembered her actual wedding was because she asked me if I’ve spoken to our mother about it.”

“Do you normally not speak to her?” I continue rummaging through the dresses in my walk-in closet, realizing then that I don’t know too much about Alexander’s family. Which makes me feel like a selfish bitch.

He asks me about everything like he’s writing my autobiography—my favorite food, restaurant, holiday, and biggest pet peeve.

Meanwhile, I know the bare minimum, and I never spent considerable time asking. It’s not an excuse but I’ve been elsewhere in my head.

When we’re together, I recognize I’m turning a new leaf. I’m aware that moving on with him gets me further away from Bishop.

And I’m scared.

I emailed my husband divorce papers today, ripping the Band-Aid off but I still feel sick about it.

---