Page 90 of Inevitable Destruction

EVERETT

“My Soul”—Thrice

Another fuckingday I wake up to Dominik Reed in my bed. He hasn’t left my house or even stepped outside since I brought him here well over a week ago. Hell, I think it’s been closer to two now.

I shove my hands into my pockets and wrap my fingers around the zippo, like it’s some twisted fucking talisman connecting me to my pops and the memory of him. My grip tightens the harder I grind my teeth, willing myself to wake Dominik up, to kick him out and make him fucking leave.

Taking one last, hard glance at his sleeping form, my eyes fall to the track marks scattering up and down both of his forearms. He’s been shooting up twice a day now, and sometimes, I’m not even sure that the sex happening multiple times a day between us and his drug habit correlate anymore.

I rip my eyes away and turn my back on him. Once the bedroom door is closed, I breathe easier now that there’s a wall between us. It shouldn’t be like this, but what’s the point in making him leave?

At least when he’s here, I know he’s not out disobeying me, or lying in a fucking ditch overdosing on the side of the road. I can control him better when he’s in my vicinity—that’s what I tell myself, anyway.

Shaking off my overbearing thoughts, I trudge down the hall and throw on my leather jacket. The white fabric of Dominik’s baseball cap catches the corner of my eye from where I hid it in the back of my closet shelf weeks ago—sitting right next to a black and gray lockbox that no longer fucking locks because of how old it is. My teeth clench at the abrupt reminder of what’s inside. I blink, taking it out of my line of sight, forcing the rush of guilt and anger away with it.

Without thinking, I grab Dominik’s hat, then light a cigarette as I make my way outside. It’s raining today, so I decided to take Dominik’s car to work. It’s risky if Jamie were to see, but she always gets there before me, so I don’t think it’ll matter. I’ll just be sure to park away from her truck if I see it.

Locking the front door behind me, I hop in his Mustang and turn it over, smiling at the intense rumbling vibrating through the leather seats. I back out of the drive and head for the station with the wipers on full blast as the rain hammers down.

By the time I make it to the precinct, the roads are flooded with pools of standing water with no end in sight. After I back the car into a spot and turn the key, I sit, staring through the rain-splattered windshield.

Big, fat drops beat down on the glass, the sound echoing through the small space of the car, adding new elements to the song playing: “My Soul” by Thrice. It fucking smells like Dominik in here—like mint and stale weed. I inhale deeply on instinct. I guess add cigarettes to the mix as well.

I pick up his hat and brush my fingers over the worn-in bill. There’s a rip underneath on the left side, and I absentmindedly trace the torn edges. My eyes close, blocking out everything but the music and the feel of the hat in my fingers. It’s been so fucking long since I just relaxed. Months. Probably even years.

I’m exhausted, down to the center of my bones. They’re black with disease—not physically—but I can feel the decay metastasizing to the point that the weight of what I’m doing is taking a toll on my physical appearance. The black bags under my eyes are prominent, adding to my rapidly paling complexion.

All in all, nothing about me is recognizable. I’m merely trying to survive the vicious black waters I’ve created.

A loud crack sounds to my left, and I startle, my heart leaping in my chest. My arms fly up to grip the steering wheel. The hat scatters to the floorboard, landing in a small puddle of water from my boots. My gaze darts to the window, only to find Jamie standing out in the pouring rain with her arms crossed over her chest and a glare so fucking heated, I can feel the intensity through the pane of glass separating us.

“Eh, fuck,” I grumble, and shove the keys in my pocket before picking up Dominik’s hat. I place it in the passenger’s seat again before pushing the door open. Rain immediately drenches me from head to toe, but I don’t move from where I’m standing.

Jamie and I stare at each other. Nothing is said, but plenty is spoken. She wants me to tell her what’s been going on, but I won’t, and she knows that. I’ve been dodging her questions for weeks, ever since Dominik came stumbling into the precinct screaming my name.

It’s been hard avoiding her when we fucking work together—when we’re partners—but I have to keep her away from this. From me.

Just as I move to step away, her arm darts out, and she wraps her fingers around my bicep, keeping me in place. My gaze flicks down to her hand on me before dragging back up to her face. My eyes narrow, but she doesn’t budge. If anything, I feel the subtle tightening of her grip.

“Rhett—”

I yank my arm out of her grasp. “Back the fuck off, Jame.” I sidestep her and haul ass to the building. I keep my head down, my eyes locked on my boots as I splash through the endless streams of water flowing through the cracks and grooves in the pavement.

It’s not until another pair of much smaller boots comes into my line of sight that I lift my head to stare endlessly forward. Her footsteps stop, but I don’t—until the next words come out of her mouth.

“You need to tell me what the fuck is going on.”

I whirl around, meeting her stubborn gaze with a ferocious one of my own. “I need to what?” I ask, contempt creeping into my tone.

“You heard me.” The dense wall of clouds overhead blanket the day in darkness, adding to the sheer intensity of this already shitty day.

“Yeah, Jame. I did hear you, but please fucking tell me how my life is any of your goddamn concern.” If this was a cartoon, steam would be rolling out of my ears right now. But it’s not—because this is real life. My painfully real, twisted, spiteful life.

“Um, excuse you?” She scoffs and steps closer to be heard over the pouring rain. “I’m your best friend, Everett. In case you forgot after all these weeks of blowing me off.” I roll my eyes, and she shakes her head, pointing her finger at me.

“See? That’s what I mean! You’re treating me like everything is in my head—when it’s fucking not. You’ve been avoiding me—comically so—for weeks now. Weeks, Rhett.

“I know you. And I know you avoid feelings and confronting those feelings, but right now, I’m asking you not to. I’m asking you to just talk to me. Tell me what’s going on with you and what’s got you so twisted up inside.” She sighs and rubs her fingers over her eyes to clear the water from them.

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