Page 61 of Cruel Charming Psychos (Necessary Evils 2)

As for my mother, I haven’t seen her since I collected the rest of my belongings from the motel. I send her some money, just enough to live on but not enough for her to drink herself to death. If we all must live with the things we have done, then she doesn’t get a free pass to escape the guilt through the permanency of death.

Still, I think of her every time I think about taking a drink.

There’s a glass of whiskey in front of me, the condensation causing a pool of water to form underneath it. It sits untouched, the blocks of ice melting like the glaciers into the sea. I caress the side of the glass with one hand, torn between getting trashed and not wanting to end up like my mother. People that knew her better than I did when I was younger say that’s exactly the way it started. It begins with one drink and then it becomes an avalanche that’s impossible to outrun.

Nick will be here soon, or close enough to here that I need to leave soon. He wants to meet at the place we first met. When he first said that I assumed he meant the bookshop where he seduced me against a backdrop of modern literary classics. He informed me, that no, that was not the first time he laid eyes on me. Rather, it was at the bar that used to be my father’s. The same bar that we burned to the ground to hide what we had done. Looking back, I remember that he was there, but it was only after being given this information. It was my first night back in the Hamptons, back before everything went to shit again. Back before Nick and I got caught up in a perverse game of cat and mouse. But I remember now, him sitting on the other side of the bar. Watching me. Planning his next move.

Since that building is no longer standing, Nick settled on meeting him on the pier that stretches in front of it. We’re better now. Hell, by traditional wisdom, I suppose we are in a relationship, albeit one that’s been hurried past the honeymoon stage. We never had one of those. We went straight from each other’s throats to finding a narrow path to each other’s hearts. It’s the strangest thing that’s ever happened to me.

He says he has a surprise for me, but I pray it’s not a private orchestra or something equally ludicrous and cheesy. Whatever it is, I just find it a little odd and more than a little eerie that he has chosen the pier in front of the scene of the crime. And then, as I take another longing look at the glass of whiskey, I contemplate the idea that he’s finally repaying me for all the hell I put him through.

The thing about paranoia is that it never shuts up.

And now I’m falling in love with him, or hell maybe I’m already there. That’s fucking terrifying. It’s the kind of fear that creeps into my bones and stays there, paralyzing me. Unable to move when I know I should be running.

I gaze at the glass of whiskey once more, torn between relishing the way it’ll taste at first, then burn against the back of my throat and knowing it’s one more drink towards becoming my mother. I shift my attention to the sleeve of my long shirt, a scar peeks out from underneath and it makes me laugh. Not because it’s funny, but rather because I think about what’s worse–alcoholism or self-harm. Both are self-destructive behaviors, but at least drinking has a purpose.

I finally grab the drink and shoot it back. It tastes equal measure potent whiskey and regret, but I push the regret to the side because it’s nothing more than a noose around my neck, always holding me back. I slap a twenty-dollar bill onto the bar and excuse myself, heading out into the freezing cold tundra. New York gets too cold too damn fast. The November air chokes me the first time I inhale and then I become accustomed to it as I watch my breath dance before me, clouds of warm air circling underneath the shadowed light of the light posts that adorn the pier.

It only takes a few minutes to reach the point of no return. I come to a stop in front of the rubble of the place that used to be my father’s. There are so many ghosts here. Innocent ghosts. Guilty ghosts. The ghost of my father and the ghost of the girl I used to be. It’s like I can hear the voices, screams and cries overcrowded by the gleeful laughing of a child.

The child is me.

I can never be that happy again. The world has stripped that away from me, tossed it into a fire, and lit the match. Everything good in this world, the good I could have been, the good I’ll never be, was ripped away from me before I even had a chance to stand on my own two feet.

I bring my arms around me, trying to shake away the chill of the November air. But it’s not the air that freezes me. It’s the eerie nightmare of standing here. Of all the places in the world, why would Nick choose this place to meet? He has to be up to something. I turn back to the pier and brace my cold hands on the wooden railing that overlooks the sea, the raging winds of high tide sending waves crashing against the supports below.

And then I feel a shadow over me, elongated and cast forward like a claw trying to rip me into the darkness. It’s not a monster though. I understand that it’s Nick, but he’s quiet, saying nothing. My heart races, beats against my chest, as I turn around to see him.

He’s handsome, of course he is.

He’s dressed in his finest clothes, black trousers and a white shirt tucked into his pants with suspenders strapped over his shoulders.

His hair is combed to the side, a far cry from the mess he usually wears on his head.

He’s pulled together and I’m anything but.

“It’s about time you showed up,” I say, my teeth chattering. “I was about to start another fire to keep me warm.” I check our surroundings, no orchestra in sight. “Thank God, there’s no orchestra.”

“Why would there be one of those?” He raises a curious brow. “I’m sorry for keeping you waiting. I forgot something in my car and had to go back for it.”

“What is this, Nick? Why did you want to meet here, of all places?”

He scratches at the back of his head. It’s the telltale sign of his that he’s nervous. Always scratching at the back of his head like it’s the same thing as saying words. “This is where it all began.”

“Us?”

He closes the distance between us so that he’s right in front of me. He gazes down at me, eyes wondering. “I know that we are two different people from two different worlds. I know that we’re both fucked up in our own ways, and I don’t mean that in a bad way. I know a lot of things, but I don’t know where we stand. Not really. I’m torn between who I used to be and who I’m becoming, and I know you’re a big part of that. You’re a big part of my world. We’ve buried literal skeletons together. We’ve been at war. Sometimes, we fuck like the world is ending and we’re trying to go out on our own terms while the world burns around us.” He’s looking anywhere but at me, anywhere but into my eyes. It’s like he can’t. “You’re not the girl I thought you were. You’re definitely not the girl I expected to fall in love with, but that’s where I’m at. I can’t imagine my life without you.” He drops onto one knee and when he’s beneath me, he digs a box out from the pocket of his trousers. He fumbles with the lid, his fingers shaking. And then he opens the box, and even in the darkest of nights, the diamond ring glistens underneath the pale yellow glow. “I’m not asking you to marry me. I’m telling you that I need you to marry me because I don’t know how to make sense of this world, or this mess we’ve created together, without you. Maybe that’s not the most romantic thing to say in the moment, but I’m shaking and nervous, and I’m not the type of person to get nervous.” He gazes upwards, longing and lost and waiting. “You’re being really quiet and that scares me.”

The first smattering of snow falls upon his hair, and then it begins to powder the top of his head. The wind howls behind me, pushing through my hair. I swallow nervously, trying to say something, anything, but I’m empty. No words. No answer. Just silence.

“Please say something, Addison.”

It hits me like a truck, the words surprise me even when they shouldn’t. “No.”

He chokes on his own words, his lips moving to speak but nothing coming out. Not at first. He exhales harshly before rising to his feet. He stuffs the ring back into his pocket and turns on his feet, angling his face away from mine, hiding in the pockets of shadows.

I bow my head, unable to look at him any longer. I look to my feet, feeling the urge to run but I can’t move. Paralysis. In another world, I could have said yes. I wanted to say yes. There’s something macabre about the timing and the location though, and that’s to say nothing of the commitment issues I’ve had since I was a little girl.

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