Page 54 of Tear Me Down
The moment I step out of the car, the haunted aura hits me, and while I know it’s most likely a figment of my imagination, I swear I can faintly hear screams and enraged voices. A fog of hatred, despair, and lies coats the property, misted over with nothing but memories of pain and suffering. Whisps of cold air breeze past me, almost as if the ghosts that linger here have come to greet me, and as I look over to Serena, I see that they’ve done more than reach her. They’ve welcomed her back like they waited for her—a trophy they couldn’t collect in life, but steal in death.
Tears stain her face, and I’m shocked by how much her clear sorrow is affecting me. Her hair has is unkempt, the normal layers of makeup on her features are missing, and the skin on her face and neck is red and blotchy, almost as if the wicked emotions have become a permanent part of her now. Any ounce of anger I felt towards her is melting. While I’m halfway disappointed in myself for it, it’s clear just from this scene that she truly loves Ashia just as much as Ashia loves her, and that’s enough for me to put my own opinions aside.
Our tracking showed where she’s been. It seems she’s been everywhere between her parent’s house, clubs, stores, work, and even out on the greenway once or twice—moving at about the speed as a normal jog. Nothing seemed to change for her, but that was clearly on the surface. Perhaps her parents made her go out and try to live normally, like they did for Ashia, and her job is literal life or death. It’s not like she could just call out and wallow in self-pity. The scene in front of me makes it clear, though. She’s been just as tortured as Ashia has through all of this, and our initial assumption of her carrying on like it didn’t matter were false.
Walking over to her, I’m unsure of what to say—feeling the tense despair that radiates from her, one that can’t be solved by words alone, if it could be cured at all. So, I sit down next to her and stare at the house as their memories manifest themselves beyond the grave, as if Serena is sharing them with me through the dense silence.
We stay like this for about five minutes, absorbing the horrors that still live in the walls. I imagine Ashia’s time here and try to piece together everything she’s ever told me, along with the reports I read. How many times did she sprint out of the front door begging for help? How much of her bloodhas seeped into the floorboards? I have half a mind to break in and look around, fully take in the destruction, but even the thought is pushed away by the ghosts, as if the sight alone would release that primal entity I have buried deep inside myself, with nothing around to unleash it upon except for the innocent blonde that sits beside me.
“I’m not a horrible person.” She finally speaks behind a choked sob.
“I didn’t say you were.” I speak softly, because now I understand that she’s here for a reason, and the fact that she hasn’t immediately lashed out at me again is a good start.
“I don’t fucking like you,” she seethes, obviously trying to mask her pain with her infamous attitude.
There’s goes my sympathy.
“Yeah, well. I don’t like you either,” I mock her, completing it with a mirroring head bob. When I look towards her again, I hate how my chest clenches. The muscles in her neck are strained, and her jaw is locked. She’s forcing this anger out, and from the pulsing vein popping out of her neck, it might just cause her to pass out. This conversation needs to happen, regardless of her silent turmoil, and I’d rather get it done sooner than later. “Serena, you can’t keep doing this to her.”
“I’m not trying to hurt her,” she says through gritted teeth and rests her head in her hands.
“Then what exactly are you trying to do to her? Because it looks to me like you’re trying to punish her.”
“Isn’t that what happens when you murder someone? You’re thrown in jail as punishment?”
“Is that what you want? You want her to go to jail?”
“No,” she answers sharply.
“Do you think that would help her? Leaving her scared and alone?”
“Of course not!”
“That’s essentially what you’re doing,” I scold her.
“No, it’s not!”
“Then what are you doing Serena? What’s the point in all of this? You’re clearly torn up about this too! So, what? You think if you just shove her to the side that it’ll all go away?”
“No!” she yells.
“Then what do you want?” I roar.
“I DON’T KNOW! I don’t know how to deal with this, Damien! I didn’t grow up here! My parents were sweet, kind people! I didn’t have to deal with dead bodies in my living room or hatred that was deep enough to want to kill them, okay! I save people! Not kill them! Not everyone is as fucking psychotic as you are! This may have been Ashia’s life, but I walked away with wounds too!” she screams back at me, and then hiccups before a sob overtakes her body.
Now it makes sense. Those years she stood by my woman’s side also affected her, so deeply yet concealed, that it scared her as well. While Ashia’s scars are on the surface, on display for anyone to judge, Serena’s are buried so far under the skin that maybe no one has ever noticed. She obviously never experienced the horrors firsthand, but laying witness to something as tragic as Ashia’s upbringing has its own trauma, and I can see that now.
“I just…” She pauses. “I don’t know how to deal with this. This isn’t normal. This isn’t just something that I can roll over and take without question. You, your vigilante group, Carter, it’s all so much in such a short amount of time…and now my best friend is willingly killing people?”
“It’s not like she went out in the middle of the day, picked a good Samaritan off the street, and gutted them in an alleyway, Serena.” I shake my head in disbelief and keep my focus on the broken windows, so I don’t completely lose it on her.
“I get that!” Right after her outburst, silence overtakes us again, settling in like a disease before she starts again—but softer this time. “I don’t know how to handle the violence or the gray areas.” I look over at her in confusion, and she finally looks back at me. “She’s always been able to see it, you know? The ‘someone did a bad thing, but did it for the right reasons’ kind of thing.” She shakes her head. “I’ve never been able to see that. I know right and wrong. Murder is wrong. That’s ending a life, and while I know that Turk was a shitty person, he was still a person.” She hangs her head.
“Still a bad guy,” I throw in there, but then I take a deep breathe. Backhanded comments aren’t going to get us anywhere, and I need to reign myself in. This is for Ashia, and no one else. So as much as I hate it, I have to push my lingering anger at Serena aside and make this work. “Ashia hasn’t changed, Serena. She’s still your best friend.”
“That’s the thing.” Her head continues to move back and forth, as if the thoughts in her head are swirling it for her. “I know who she is. She’s the girl that had to weasel her way through life and fight like hell to survive, and I admire the fuck out of her for that. I know she’s always been a force, but these past six years have been…nice.”
Her voice cracks, and she draws in a shaky gasp—like she didn’t expect those words to come out of her mouth. I stay silent, letting her continue in hopes of getting an answer from her.
