Page 21 of In the Light of Sin

“Engine was fucked.” I knew Joslyn would buy it but doubted Vic would. “Had to get it fixed.”

“Bullshit,” Vic called me out, glancing at Joslyn briefly before a mocking grin spread on her face. “I think you did it for a certain someone.”

I wasn’t having this conversation. I angrily repeated myself. “Joslyn. Let’s. Go.”

“Coming!” She chirped as she bounded down toward me, taking out her aids as she went. She hopped up behind me with a comfortability I wasn’t used to. Fisting my cut in one of her hands to stabilize herself, she waved back to Victoria. “See you soon!”

That cocky fuckin’ smile was still on Victoria’s face as she waved us away.

* * *

“Stay,” I commanded Joslyn when we stepped into my cabin. She stood on the tiled floor of the entryway while I searched the inside of my house with my gun drawn. It was something I had to do. If I didn’t, I felt like someone would be in here watching me.

Walking past the guest bedroom, I noticed the door was closed. I always made sure the door was open so if there was an intruder, I wouldn’t be surprised when I entered the room. I finished clearing the house and came back to Joslyn at the front door.

Her eyes went to my right bicep, eyes zoning in on a specific area. She walked over, lifting her hand to hover it over my gunshot wound–

“Fuck, woman!” I shouted as she poked my fresh wound. She stuck her fucking finger in it. “What the fuck!”

“Reckless idiot,” She scolded. “You could’ve been killed!”

“Just a scratch,” I hissed, ripping my arm away from her before walking over to the kitchen cabinet, the same one Joslyn did her best to avoid whenever she was here. I reached for two shot glasses and then grabbed my favorite malt whiskey. I set all three down and began to pour up two shots. I heard a gasp. Joslyn was to my right, skin lightly shining with sweat as her throat worked past the obvious knot. “W-What are you doing?”

“My ritual.” It was just as simple as that. I had two shots and passed the fuck out. “I do it every night.”

“But… why?”

I sat the bottle down, pondering on how to word this correctly so she could try to understand. Taking two shots before bed wasn’t typical for anyone, but I doubted Joslyn would understand if I explained it to her. “For honor.”

“Alcohol isn’t a celebration. It’s the beginning of a downhill spiral.”

“For some,” I corrected. Have there been days I wanted to down a bottle of this poison and forget everything, praying I’d never wake up? More often than I’d ever admit.

“It’s so easy to get lost in something.” Her eyes were far away, but her meaning was close to home. My hands rested on the counter, trapping the three glasses in. My head turned to her, watching as she leaned her body weight against the fridge. Maybe the coolness of the door was grounding her? The shine in her eyes was gone completely, reminding me of the gloom of the dead grass in a graveyard. “Do addicts ever truly recover? Or do they just replace their vice with something else to numb it?”

I stayed silent, not being able to answer that. When you hear the word “addict,” you automatically think of drugs and alcohol. No one talks about all the other types of addictions people are crippled with.

Control. Power. Greed. They were just as dangerous, if not more… you couldn’t see these addictions until it was too late.

I was addicted to numbing my pain, mastering the art of not feeling at all. If I felt something, I made you feel something, too.

And then I was alone again.

“Go to bed.” My command was gruff, but looking at her, I noticed the bags under her eyes and clammy skin. She was fighting within herself to be a strong force, afraid to let me see what was really underneath. Truth is, I already knew more about her with a single glance than any feigned happiness she spewed daily. She didn’t fight me, instead bringing her hands to rest on her chest with a relaxed face, trying to steel herself.

“Goodnight, Sarge.” Her voice is sweet, like a melody. Despite our heavy conversation, she still managed to put up a front I could see right through. The painted mask chipping away until sleep would make a new coat, repeating her exhausting process of ignoring what she was truly feeling. “Tomorrow’s another day. The sun will always shine again.”

I didn’t look at her as she walked past me, her light footsteps slowly taking her away.

“Joslyn.”

Her footsteps stopped.

“As long as you’re alive, the sun will always rise for me.”

I swore I could hear her smile as she continued to the guest bedroom and, as quietly as she could, shut the door, leaving me alone.

But, like the sunshine on good days, storms always lurked close behind. The damage left by those storms only depended on how prepared you were for them, even on sunny days.

---