Page 113 of Inevitable Destruction

My stomach flops, upturning the contents. “Stop,” I rasp, begging her to stop before it’s too late.

“No. You need to hear this. Stop pushing me away, stop hurting me because you’re hurting. You want me gone because I care, and I see you’re in pain.

“You think you can’t hurt, that things don’t affect you. That your father’s death doesn’t still affect you. But that’s why Dominik’s been in your life, isn’t it? I found out who he is…”

I’m not surprised Jamie went snooping, but hearing his name spoken out loud after days of trying to pretend he was solely a means to an end—it puts his unavoidable existence back at the forefront of my mind, twists the knife in impossibly deep. I can feel myself bleeding internally with no hope of a cure.

“Don’t say his fucking name,” I growl, hating the way the words taste like acid on my tongue. Please, say his name. Never let me forget this, what I did.

“I’m a fucking snake,” I tell her, the words tumbling from my drunken lips unbidden.

“A snake?” she asks, her voice conveying her confusion.

“Yeah. I sunk my fangs so deep into him, he had no choice but to let me drag him every which way until I had him where I wanted him. And fuck, did I want him.” I choke on my words, wetness smearing across my face and dripping down my beard and onto my bloody, split open knuckles, the salt adding to the sting.

“I coiled myself so tightly around him, neither of us could breathe without the other. But of course, once that happened, I couldn’t fucking find my way back. Up became down, wrong became right.

“He… he fucking became right—and he can’t be. Not when he’s so wrong, when all of this is so fucking wrong!” The snot and tears pour from my orifices like fountains, obstructing my ability to breathe, and I start to choke, my palms slamming across my chest in a panic.

“Why not?” Jamie’s words ring through the night, her slight arm sliding across my shoulders. She pulls me against her with such force, I topple over. My head lands in her lap, and her fingers tangle into my strands as she brushes them away from my face.

I think about her words as I press my face deeper into the fabric of her scratchy, polyester work pants. The pressure of her hands on my head, her arms around me, her reassuring words, all send me further down my spiral.

Sobs wrack my body, making the much smaller one underneath me shake with their force. I’ve kept so many secrets from her, from my fucking self, all for my pops.

“Because he just can’t be, Jamie. He’s the son of Alexander, the man who put so many bullets into my father’s body, he looked like swiss cheese.” The crime scene photos flash through my mind like a movie, the soundtrack of Dominik’s screams as I left him after I took everything from him—which wasn’t much to begin with.

“That’s not his fault,” she says, tucking a strand behind my ear. I shake my head.

“Doesn’t matter; it’s the principle.”

“I think you’re making excuses. I’ve never seen you like this before, Rhett. You’ve been spiraling for weeks, and now, you’re like this.”

The air around us is dense with moisture, the rain having stopped not too long before. Sweat beads on my flesh atop the goosebumps I can’t seem to rid myself of. Everything feels wrong—the air, the ground below me, the way my head pounds with unknown feelings.

“Every decision I’ve made has been based off excuses,” I mumble into her leg, squeezing myself tighter around her as the truth tumbles from my lips, hoping she won’t leave me, too.

I don’t think I can handle being alone anymore. Not now that I know how being held feels, being loved feels…

“He told me he hated that he loved me.” Jamie’s arm stills on my head, and I stiffen. Yeah, Jame. It went that far.

“Start from the beginning, Rhett. I think you need to tell me everything.”

The clouds break apart from their mass, and a sliver of moonlight peaks through, shining down on the glistening grass. My eyes keep shifting to the shared headstone a few feet away, the ghost of Dominik more present than ever.

I explain what my life has become these last few months to Jamie, only leaving a few things out. I tell her about my sick, carnal need to claim and destroy him, the pills, and what I made him do for them.

I made him need me, need what I could give him and no one else. He knew I was the only one that could make him feel what I did—and he grew to crave it, obsess over it.

Then he fucking loved me. He turned the tables and slithered his way in like a snake himself, upending everything.

When I spill the last of it to her—the part about me barging in and then destroying his apartment when I couldn’t find him, she laughs. I stiffen, finally lifting my head from my hiding place. Her hazel eyes meet mine, humor shining brightly, despite the darkness.

“You’re in love with him,” she says matter-of-factly, without a hint of doubt, and I rear back, pulling away from her, my head shaking in denial.

“I’m not. I’m just… in withdrawal. I crave him like he craves his drugs, and after a while, the pain, the shakes, the agony, will dissipate, and I’ll be better.”

“Do you really believe that?” she asks, her brows tugging together as she stares at me knowingly. I gaze away and bring a cigarette to my lips. I flip the lid on my zippo and spark the flame, igniting the end.

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