Page 118 of Vicious Little Snakes
Carebear:And don’t forget you owe me dick because…flower.
* * *
I look up at the wall, cluttered with bright paint and initials that belong to people trying to make a name for themselves. It’s no different from a gallery, really. We’re all artists—my medium is usually a paintbrush, theirs is a can of spray paint. Different and yet the same.
I shrug off my suit jacket, handing it to Matias, who puts it on, making me laugh because he’s about six inches shorter than me and probably seventy-five pounds lighter too.
Mac nudges my shoulder. “My brother looks like he’s twelve.”
Matias flips us off as I reach down to grab a can of paint from the few on the ground, turning my head towards him as he speaks.
“So, what’s the plan tonight? With all this and your girl?”
I roll up my shirt sleeve before shaking the can, before teasing him. “I’m not telling you. Why? Just so you can show up and try to steal her?”
Mac laughs, “Good call. Matias is a sneaky fuck, always trying to be a player.”
We’re all laughing as I make quick work of respraying Caroline’s lips, switching to another color to add definition. I can’t believe I never got to see the world this way when I was younger and learning about art.
“Sweet,” Matias breathes as I step back.
I glance down at my white retro Jordan’s, hearing the boys say, “Aw, shit.”
Mac drops a hand to my shoulder. “You finally arrived, Richie Rich. No spray off.”
I shove Mac’s shoulder, chuckling. He takes a playful swing at me, and I dodge, but as I do, the can in my hand drops to the ground, making us all jump back, trying not to get hit with a shot of paint.
“Aw, fuck,” I laugh, turning toward the wall, wincing, preparing to get tagged up.
The can clangs against the pavement as it lands, rolling a few feet away. I turn around, relieved, as Matias and Mac both look amused. I open my mouth just as a bright spotlight blinds me.
“Bro,” “Fuck,” and “Don’t move” echoes around me as my hand shields my face. A whoosh of air sounds from my sides as both brothers break in separate directions yelling.
“Go. Go. Go.”
Oh shit. My sneakers dig into the pavement as I start to bolt, but the click of a gun has me freezing in place, already breathless, slowly raising arms. Two cops walk toward me, each with a gun aimed straight at me.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. No.
Caroline.
Caroline
Ten, nine, eight, seven…
The countdown’s happening, but time’s already standing still. It doesn’t matter how much longer until midnight. Because I’m standing in the middle of the room—alone, empty, and stripped of all my hope. He never came. I waited. Smiling and hoping the whole night that he would walk through the door, apologize, and sweep me off my feet. But he never came.
Six, five, four, three…
I believed him.
I trusted him.
I loved him.
Fuck, Liam.
One.
