Page 590 of The Tempted

It was time for a wake-up call, something to bring me down from the high of being happy and drag me back to the reality I deserved.

Back then, I thought it was ironic the house I bought was only mere minutes from the home of one of the families I destroyed.

Then I thought it was the devil fucking with me.

Now, I know it was fate.

I turned down the street I used to sit on for hours and stared at the two-story home with black shutters. I parked my bike across the street from the house and killed my engine. I could still see the newspaper headlines so vividly as if they were in front of me for the first time. I remember seeing the photos of the two boys that overdosed in the obituaries.

Both boys were waked at Scarpaci Funeral Home on Hylan Boulevard, on the same night and buried in Resurrection Cemetery on the same day.

I never told a soul, but I went to each of those boys wakes.

I sat in the back of the chapel and watched their mothers cry over their bodies as a priest ask God to forgive them and welcome both children into the gates of heaven.

Heavenly Father, please protect Alex Rossi.

Dear God, watch over Peter Corona.

I’ll never forget the names of the boys whose lives I robbed.

I’ll never forget their mothers.

And when I start to, I come here and wait for Mrs. Rossi to come home from work. I look at her, years later, and see how she never healed from the loss of her son.

Then, I drive to Resurrection Cemetery and pay my respects to Peter Corona, and the grave next to his where his mother was laid to rest a week after she buried her boy.

She committed suicide, left a note behind saying, she needed to be with her son.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone as I glanced into the side-view mirror of my bike and saw Mrs. Rossi’s car turn onto the street.

I’m sorry.

So, fucking sorry.

I made the call.

A half hour later I was driving away from the projects.

I turned into a real pussy, shocking the hell out of my dealer when I passed up the heroin and opted for the eight ball of coke.

But as much as I wanted to bring myself to hell.

I couldn’t bring myself to forgether.

And if shooting up risked that, risked robbing me of the memory of her pretty face I wouldn’t mark my arms.

Only to save the memory of Lace.

Look at that, even in the end she wound up being the one who savedme.

When I got back to the clubhouse I went straight for the bathroom, lined up two lines of coke and snorted them with a rolled up twenty-dollar bill.

I lifted my head as I braced my hands on the counter and peered at the devil in the mirror.

My name is Blackie and I am an addict.

That was my destiny.

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