Page 93 of Hearts Held
I leave my perch, my laughter becoming more maniacal, and more sinister to ease the pain of the sadness that ebbs from my soul.
But my fun is interrupted by the double doors swinging open and a new contender walking in.
My brother Kenneth, of all people, walks through the doors.
He cocks his head in my direction, arms crossed over his matte-black three-piece suit.
Sauntering over to the phonograph, I maintain eye contact with my brother amid the chaos. Then I deposit the needle on Beethoven’sFür Eliseand play it as loud as fucking possible.
He glances at each individual around us and is clearly taken aback by the insanity. Like Everett, he never shows much emotion, so this is rather amusing.
I cackle as his eyes narrow and he marches toward me.
To avoid his bullshit, I continue my fun.
I climb atop the long wooden dining table, kicking each and every plate that is within range. The dishes rocket into the wall, one by one. The crashing and clanging fills the air, accompanying the music. I kick with such fervor I don’t realize some of the dishes havehit the blokes in the head, and one dish erupts on the wall next to Kenneth… Whoops.
If only he realized my life was smashed into a thousand pieces, much like that plate. Once they tookher—the only thing that brought melifeandlightin this dark and debilitating world.
One large bloke, who I mentally refer to as “Italian Sausage,” tries to stab me with a steak knife, so I rush him. Slamming my knees onto the table, I block his movement with my forearm, then twist him round so his back is on my chest, the knife now pointed towardhischest. I begin stabbing relentlessly.
“Stop stabbing yourself, stop stabbing yourself!” I yell, then realize there is another plump version of Italian Sausage coming toward me.
Yanking the steak knife from the initial sausage’s chest, I then stab it under the new sausage’s chin.
Blood spurts from his mouth as he groans, unable to speak, as the steak knife traveled under his mandible and straight through his tongue.
One last mobster emerges from under the table and stands. He tries to run, two adders attached to the back ofeither arm.
Kenneth catches him effortlessly.
“You all are rats! Fuck-ing rats!” the mobster screams. He struggles to get out each word and is clearly having difficulty breathing. His eyes are reddened from crying or quite possibly the drugs. Going by his panting, the snake venom and drugs must really be taking a toll on him.
I cackle. Before I can say anything, Kenneth finally speaks.
“No.Weare snakes, and snakes eat fucking vermin likeyou,” Kenneth snarls in the man’s ear, then raises a serrated knife and painfully saws the man’s throat open.
Fuck, that’s sadistic.
The body drops to the floor with a largethudand Kenneth’s eyes fall to me. I pretend his steely gaze doesn’t send shivers down my spine.
The room becomes eerily silent.
“What wereyouthinking?” Kenneth asks.
“I gave them what they feckin’ deserved, brotha,” I state, then look around at the carnage that has consumed the room.
“Everett’s gonna kill you,” he states.
A small, aggravated chuckle escapes me. “I wish he would, but we don’t killfamily, do we, brother? Though of all people, I’m the one who wants to die the most.”
“Don’t say that.” Kenneth walks over to the table and sniffs a plate. “You put sumthin’ in ’ere?” His deep voice rattles as he lowers one finger, almost touching the sauce until I snatch his wrist away.
“A fuck-ton of mushrooms and some heroin,” I laugh out. “And my spunk. Italians love their fucking pasta. Thought it was poetic.”
Then Kenneth pulls his face up in disgust and shakes his head. “Damn, that’s fucking sadistic, brotha.”
I sway, clutching Kenneth’s wrist, and lean into his tall frame. “Fuck,” I state. “Shit I need my own hit, withdrawal is about to set in and I’m about to be signed, sealed, delivered and fucked.”
