Page 69 of Capitol Matters

Coughing, I grabbed the second jug, then the third, emptying and dropping them into the tub. A hissing sound filled the cloudy air as I staggered backward,hitting the door and sliding down it to huddle on the floor.

There was no stopping the sobs that wracked my body. I tucked my knees up, shrinking into a shuddering, sniveling mess.

The voices repeated, rattling around inside my skull so loudly I didn’t hear the knock at the door so much as felt it.

The knob above my head began to turn and I threw out a mental thread to lock it.

“Fuck off, Nash!” I snapped, my voice strangled.

I regretted it immediately, but I couldn’t go after him. Couldn’t budge with my knees weak and wobbly and my sight blurred by tears. So, I wrapped my arms around myself and wished they were his squeezing everything out.

I stayed there until the smoke cleared. Until my eyes dried up. Until I could turn off again because I liked off so much better.

It was dark andstarting to rain by the time I skulked out of the Bitters’ End, painfully sober and hours late to pick Donovan up from Lock n’ Roll. I’d turned my phone off sometime between the acid bath breakdown and when I heaved myself into the Bronco feeling as empty as if someone had scooped my insides out with a spoon. My brother could call a cab if he was desperate enough. He’d proven himself more than able to do that.

I arrived at Lock n’ Roll and almost pulled past where Donovan sat outside the front office. He’d taken shelter under an awning but was soggy with his jeans soaked up the legs and his dark hair plastered to his face. At this hour, the storage facility’s gates were closed and locked, and the small building behind my brother showed nothing but darkness through its windows.

Judging from Donovan’s stiff posture as he hauled himself to standing, he was not happy aboutmy delay. I braced myself for a tongue-lashing as he threw open the passenger door and squinted in at me.

“What happened to you?” he asked.

Was it that obvious?

I patted the empty passenger seat. “Get in. I wanna go home.”

He obeyed, moving slowly while watching me with unmasked confusion. Once he was settled in the car, he turned to peer into the hatch.

“Where’s the vic?” he asked, sounding so much like a try-hard from a procedural cop drama that I wanted to laugh. But the news I had to deliver was anything but humorous.

“She didn’t make it,” I said.

The Bronco lurched into reverse, then rolled out into the street.

Distant thunder rumbled as businesses blurred by, echoing the closed and boarded-up theme of Main Street. Grimm chose this storage facility because of its proximity to our motel home—though the cheeky name was a plus. I could make it back to Lazy Daze and into my bed in ten minutes or less, and I could barely wait that long.

A mile passed before Donovan asked, “What about her body?”.

“I took care of it.”

He hummed a somber sound.

I mentally cranked my window down and retrieved a loose cigarette from the center console. While my hands were busy lighting it, I turned the next corner with a knee and a bit of telekinetic guidance.

Smoke settled in my chest, soothing me to silence. Meanwhile, Donovan drummed his fingers on the window ledge as darkened buildings buzzed by.

“Hey, Fitch?”

My head tipped toward him.

“I’m sorry,” he said. Rainwater dripped down his face, and he tugged up his shirt collar to wipe it away.

“For what?” I took a drag off the cigarette.

Donovan slumped, tucking his chin into his chest and reducing his voice to a mutter. “I think you kinda saved me. From a lot of things.”

I gave him a side-eye as we climbed the hill leading to the Lazy Daze Motel.

“Now that you’re not around—and I know I keep saying this—things are different.” He sighed. “I thought it would be fun.”

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