Page 59 of Magic or Madness

“Come here, Bambi,” Ozzy whispers, patting my side of the bed.

“I had no idea how to shoot that gun,” I confess, and his anger fades, a voluminous laugh erupting from his belly.

Not the kind of laugh that patronizes me, or makes me feel like an idiot, but the kind that makes me feel like I’m his equal, and hegenuinelythinks I’m funny.

“What were you going to do with it?”

“I don’t know. Knock it into his teeth, probably,” I counter, shrugging my shoulders and he shakes his head.

“My Bambi. My dream girl,” he whispers against my neck, bringing me down and tucking his arm around me.

“Will you teach me? I want to be able to protect myself,” I plead, and he nods generously, almost like he didn’t need to give it a second thought.

“Absolutely, Fallon. He won’t mess with you again, that much I can guarantee.”

I know Ozzy won’t let Journey get away with how he behaved tonight, but I appreciate him letting me handle it, and trusting that I can stand up for myself.

“It’s not just about him. There was something … freeing about holding that weapon, being the one in charge. I liked it.” I let another confession slip, and he doesn’t judge me, or think it’s strange.

Instead, he just holds me while I speak, nodding along as I explain how taking my power back and defending myself has lit a new fire within me. It’s been a long road, but I feel confident in my abilities, and I’m not the scared little girl posing in front of a camera anymore.

Since I met Ozzy, I’ve noticed small changes about myself, things that I do a little differently than I used to, or pieces inside that don’t feel so broken anymore, and I think it’s because of him.

It’s almost as if something shifted, maybe even aligned, and I’ve taken a first-class transport to the life I feel was meant for me.

There’s only one thing I feel guilty about, and I refuse to fall asleep without confessing.

“Oliver told me a little more about Doc,” I say, and I feel Ozzy’s body stiffen under mine.

“Max let him talk about Doc in front of you?”

“Well, I asked, but Max left halfway through the conversation after the mutiny was mentioned,” I explain and he sits upright in bed.

“Oh, Fallon. I shouldn’t have left you wondering, searching for more information,” he sighs, raking his hands through his hair.

“Did I fuck something up?”

“No, it’s just … Max shot Doc. He carried out the mutiny clause, and it’s haunted him in more ways than one. He was like a father to all of us, but he also preyed on us. We were young and impressionable, and he took advantage, especially when it came to Masha. She was the first girl in the group, but she had mental health issues and a ton of trauma.” He shakes his head like he’s trapped in a memory, the pain prominent on his face.

The more I dig my heels in to learn about Doc, the more I regret it. The baggage that these men carry because of him is heavy, and my curiosity is starting to get the best of me.

“Masha’s family was extremely conservative, like a cult, and Doc found her sleeping at a train station. He offered her food, a place to sleep, and a job. From there she was a part of us, and I wish we had just sent her back to her family. She was a kid, barely eighteen, and there was no reason for her to have her hands in the dangerous shit we were into back then.” He pauses to collect himself, and wipes away the stray tears, but the sadness in his eyes is heavy.

I pull him close, running my hands through his hair, and placing gentle kisses on his cheeks.

“Ozzy –”

“No, Fallon. It’s time to be brave like you’ve been and tell you the whole story.” He holds a finger to my lips, and I nod, giving him the space to sort out his thoughts.

What he needs from me is patience, and that’s exactly what I’m going to give him. I’ll wait all night if that’s what helps him get this off his chest.

Sometimes, talking about our past helps the healing process, and I’m hoping that if Ozzy opens up, he can begin to move on from the chaos of Doc in life, and death.

“We choose our jobs now, ones that don’t require us to become hitmen … but Doc was all about the money, and more often than not, we had to draw blood to get paid.” He trails off, closing his eyes as if the memories are coming back to life in his mind.

“How many people have you …” I ask, choosing my words carefully, but before I can finish the question, he answers.

“Six.”

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