Page 72 of Shattered
I suppose it was like a tattoo, but less professional, more primal. Relying only on weapons to leave our marks, not ink. We dealt in flesh and blood and used those primal urges to our advantage. It fit the two of us.
I couldn’t promise Melissa the life she deserved—freedom, her art, happiness, and authenticity—but I could rest easy knowing that I had pushed her in the right direction. Even if she forgot what my mask looked like, or getting fucked in the ass for the first time, or the way she waited for me night after night, even if she forgot about all of that, at least she could look at the scar healing on her arm and remember me. The man she let mark her. Body and soul.
I might have needed her. Scratch that, IknewI did. But I also knew I was bad for her. She didn’t need me in her life. She would be better off on her own. Scarification was my desperate move to somehow hold onto what we had.
“I have the showing soon,” she said, interrupting the silence. I looked up, then looked back down. My bleeding palm was resting in her delicate hands. “It will probably be embarrassing, but I’d love for you to come.”
I clenched my jaw. “I wish I could,” I said.
“It’s not like anyone would know who you were.” She gestured at the mask. “I wouldn’t recognize you. Even if I had a gut feeling, how would I know? I wouldn’t.”
I guessed, in some ways, that that was true.
“You don’t need me interrupting your life,” I said.
“You wouldn’t be an interruption. This showing is the interruption.”
I pulled my hand away, gripping the washcloth in it. The wound was superficial. If it left a scar, it wouldn’t stay long, not unless I never let it heal, like I had told Melissa to.
The invitation was a sign. No matter what it was, everything pointed towards leaving Sage City.
“I thought you dreamed of being an artist,” I said.
“I don’t know what I want anymore, but I want to be genuine,” she said. She reached toward me. “Maybe that means having a showing. Maybe it doesn’t. But I’m going to stop apologizing for being myself.”
Somehow, I knew she meant she didn’t want to apologize for liking me.
We couldn’t be anything more than these moments in her bedroom. Quiet breaths shared in a cell. Blood spilled for remembrance. Nostalgia already drowning us when we weren’t even apart yet. We would never go on dates. We would never go on trips. I would never be able to treat Melissa like she deserved. I was a killer. I wasn’t good enough for someone like Melissa.
But right then, it wasn’t time to tell her any of that. I wanted to enjoy this moment since it was one of our last. She needed to move on, and I knew that the only way she would do that, was if I disappeared.
“I’ll see what I can do,” I said. I stood and looked down at her. “But I wouldn’t put my money on it.”
“The police?” she asked.
I nodded. “Take care of yourself, Melissa,” I said. And I moved towards the door.
“Why does this seem like a goodbye?” she asked. I didn’t answer. “Rourke,” she whispered. She pulled me around to face her, then wrapped her arms around me, resting her head on my chest.
With the time I had left, I would go to Sage City Medical Center. I would put in my two-weeks notice, and likely, they would ask me if I was willing to give up my shifts to the other part-time workers. I would say goodbye to my father, and the look in his eyes would tell me if he knew that I was the Angel. I would stand outside of Melissa’s showing and watch her from the windows, saying goodbye from the darkness.
But for now, I held her. I let go of those thoughts, only thinking of her. The way she felt in my arms: small, but fierce, how she showed me that holding someone like this, that it could be foreign, but with the right person, it was natural. That a monster like me could deserve this, if only for a moment.
