Page 21 of Vengeful Rotten Casualties

I don’t reply as he leaves once more. Instead, I move into the kitchen and lean against the counter as I set the notebook down and flip it open to the clean first page. It’s obviously unused.

At first, I half expect the words to just come on their own but after several seconds of staring at a blank page, I realize that they won’t.

Fuck, what am I supposed to say? How can I even say anything?She won’t understand. I take the pen back.Should I even bother?

Would it be crueler not to leave anything?

The answer is simple: Yes, it would.

I put the pen back to the paper. My hands start to shake. “Fuck,” I curse. “She’s just a kid. There’s no need to write anything special.”

Just say goodbye. That’s all I want to do. I just want to say what I couldn’t say to him.

Finally, I give up. I just close my eyes and quickly scribble a note. The only thing I can tell someone that I’m abandoning once again—against my will, as per usual, but that doesn’t make it any harder. On them or on me.

I’m sorry.

I leave the note and turn away from it, feeling emotion swell up within my chest—anger, pain, sadness, and regret. So much fucking regret. They aren’t enough, but I mean those words.

I let the door shut behind me, not even bothering to lock it as I descend the rickety steps into the barren yard. Across the open country space is the cheap old Buick I’d used to drive Avalon around on occasion when life got to be too much for either of us. I used to think about taking it and driving both of us somewhere far away, but I couldn’t do that. Doing so would have dragged her into my world, and I won’t let this happen to someone else. Not to her.

“Ready?” Lex leans against the driver’s side of the nice, lifted, Dodge truck in the yard. It’s far nicer than any of the cars I’d seen drive past this place in a year or so. If I had any neighbors, they’d definitely wonder what kind of house this was. They’d probably think it’s a drug den—what with all of the fancy clients' cars stopping by.

I grin to myself. I bet Thomas’ clients hated coming out here in the middle of nowhere. The only reason they did it is because their wives and significant others could never trace them here. There’s nothing here in Plexton, Georgia. I still hope it made them feel dirty.

“Yeah,” I say as I round the truck and head towards the passenger side. He quickly lifts himself away from the driver’s side and stops me with a hand on the handle.

“Let me,” he says. “You’re not exactly a whore anymore.”

“I’m not married yet,” I tell him as he pops the door open with flare.

He gives me a small smile. Yeah, I’m not married yet, but we both know there’s no getting out of it. Not for someone like me. A commodity. “You might as well get used to the treatment,” he replies quietly. “Mr. Osman is very wealthy and he’ll expect you to act the part of the trophy wife in public.”

I snort as I reach up and take hold of the ‘oh shit’ handle at the top of the frame. I’m not short by average standards, but it’s a ways up. “I’ll always be what they made me,” I tell him honestly. And I have no doubt that my ‘public’ appearances will be severely limited. What I remember of Mr. Osman is that he’s nearing the end of his sixties. If luck is at all on my side, he’ll die soon and I’ll be free. Truly free.

I heft myself into the car and Lex shuts the door for me. A girl can only hope for death in my circumstances—his or mine, I don’t think it matters much.

I close my eyes as Lex climbs into the driver’s seat and starts the vehicle. I press my lips together.

“Goodbye,” I whisper. “Goodbye, Ava.”

I hope life treats you better than it ever did me. I hope you fucking make it.

10

MICKI

Present day…

Things have changed. Of course they have. That’s what happens when someone disappears from the world for several years—it keeps turning, people grow up, they move on. I’ve been gone from Luc’s life for nearly six years, and from Avalon’s for at least three. What I can’t believe right now is how vastly the changes have happened in the most complex of ways.

“You go to Eastpoint?”

Avalon nods from where she sits on the luxurious leather couch across from me. The man next to her is familiar. Dean Carter. Tall. Dark hair. Striking features. Eyes that look like they’re glaring daggers at me. Yet, all the while he keeps a protective hand on Avalon’s back.

I shake my head in response to her question and then tilt it at the man to her side. As if she senses my internal questions, Avalon shoots a look up at him and then back at me before speaking again.

“My mom had an affair with someone from Eastpoint when she went to college here,” Avalon says. “She got pregnant and presto, nine months later—I popped out. Dean’s dad found me and offered me a scholarship here. A lot of stuff has happened since.”

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