Page 117 of Like Grim Death: Part One
I want to say he can unburden himself. He can let go. Fall apart.We’re here.
But he feels guilty and embarrassed and ashamed of how he acted when Sid was gone. Iknowhe does. He can’t believe he let himself get so low without her, but I want to tell him the only reason he’s even still standing is because she came back.And that’s okay.
It’s okay to love her. It’s okay to want to kill for her, die for her, bleed for her. It’s okay to want to help the little girl version of her you saw in that video. The remorse doesn’t make you weak. None of this makes you weak.
But I don’t know how to say all of that out loud. I think I’d rather swallow fucking razorblades, and I hate that about myself, but I don’t know how to fix it. How to changeme.
And before either Cain or I can say anything, Lucifer is digging in the pockets of his pants, pulling out a black lighter from one and a cigarette from the other.
He lights up in front of us, the spark of the lighter illuminating the concave illusion of his face. The tip glows bright in the night as he inhales, and I watch his eyes flutter closed.
He holds the smoke in his lungs and I catch the scent of it, so familiar to me.
After a moment, his eyes still closed, he exhales through his nostrils, smoke hazy and gray between us. He doesn’t bother to turn his head, and neither Cain nor I cough or step back or say a word about it.
But I know the nicotine and tobacco aren’t enough when Lucifer’s face becomes pained. He squeezes his brows together, but his eyes fly open and all at once, he spins around, hurls the lighter over the top of the car where we hear it clink against the stone driveway a second later, and he drops the cigarette from his mouth as he slaps both palms against the roof of his car, as hard as he can.
His back muscles are tense, a strangled sort of scream leaving his lips, and he does it again, slamming his hands against the car.
Again.
And again.
And again.
He hangs his head but he doesn’t stop, every movement jostling his body, sharp, angry cries from his mouth echoing in the night as he keeps hitting his car, over and over and over.
My stomach muscles tense, my hands balled into fists.
Cain, beside me, says and does nothing, and we just watch him on the verge of dissolving into pure emotion.
It’s a miracle, really, he can still feel anything at all.
What did they do to you tonight?I want to ask. I’m desperate for it.
But he won’t tell me for so many reasons, I don’t want to think of them all.
For a moment, he stops, hands still on the top of his car, head still bowed. Somewhere in the distance, a crow caws, and a shiver zips down my spine.
But it’s like I’m holding my breath, the way my lungs ache, waiting for his next move.
And when it happens, it confuses me.
He straightens, pulling his phone from his pocket. With his back to me, he dials a number, then presses the screen to his ear, his elbow bent, other hand still on the roof of the car.
I glance at Cain, but Cain is watching him closely.
And when he speaks, I know exactly what the fuck he’s doing. “Bring me something.”
I don’t think anymore after that. I just react. I grab the phone from his hand, backing up after I do. He spins around and I hear a dealer’s fucking voice on the other end of the line.
“I was wondering when you’d call me from your real number,” he’s saying. “What do you need?” There’s a sick pleasure under his tone as Lucifer steps toward me. There’s something else too. The voice is familiar and with a jolt, I recognize it as the guy who beat the shit out of me in the interrogation test.
“Give me the fucking phone.” Luce snarls the words.
I’m not scared of him though, and I respect him, but I love him more than that, and I won’t let him do this.
I end the call, pushing the phone into my own pocket, and as Lucifer reaches for me to grab it, Cain is behind him, threading his arm through both of Luce’s and holding him back to his chest.
