Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 40859 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 204(@200wpm)___ 163(@250wpm)___ 136(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40859 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 204(@200wpm)___ 163(@250wpm)___ 136(@300wpm)
I look back once more before letting out a sigh. I know better. Once something is behind you, it’s done. It can’t be changed. Trust me, if I could change the past, I would in a heartbeat.
Why I keep this place is beyond even me. Psychological warfare is something I trained in. If I had to categorize this home, it is absolutely a battlefield for my mind. Knowing this, I still can’t seem to let it go no matter how much I know it isn’t healthy. Once upon a time, this house had dreams, a future. Happiness once abounded inside the walls of this home. Nothing here brings me joy anymore, and not a damn thing can ever change it.
But she will be safe here.
Compartmentalize.
It’s how to survive a war zone. Everything and everyone has a box. Tuck each box away until necessary. Focus on the mission and nothing else matters.
This house it doesn’t ever stay in the box. In fact, my entire adult life becomes muddled the longer I sit in this driveway. The craving to put the gun to my head and pull the trigger arise inside me once again.
Why not? Who will miss me?
In death, I will find peace.
Would I see her again? Could I hold her in my arms once more in the afterlife?
I could do it. The cold metal of the barrel to my temple or under my chin, four pounds of pressure on the trigger and in a snap it would be done. The loneliness, the guilt, the pain, and this house would all be nothing anymore.
Shaking off the thoughts that haunt me, I twist the throttle and ride back to her shop. Upon arrival, the guys already have the front door off the hinges trying to replace the glass I shot out. It was a reaction, I went into mission mode and path of least resistance to getting to her was through the door.
Pulling up, I drop the kickstand and cut the engine off, but stay in my seat. Looking to my left hand, the tremors are present. The medication isn’t working anymore. The tingling sensations are brutal. It’s like my hand ‘falling asleep’ as my granddad always called it, but no matter how much I drop the arm to allow for blood flow, the pins and needles don’t stop. Sitting on my bike, I reach to the pocket inside my cut and pull out a joint. Lighting it, I take the first inhale.
Deep.
Closing my eyes, I let the weed do its job. As I take the next draw, I feel the pain lessoning. Whether it’s truly the medicinal purposes found in the marijuana or it’s simply in my head, I don’t care. This shit takes the edge off my shaking hand, my painful arm, and the thoughts in my head. Opening my eyes, Creed has approached.
“You okay?” He asks watching me cautiously.
I nod exhaling. Sure, I could get a ticket for smoking marijuana in public. I don’t give a fuck. I’ll take the hit and tell the judge I’d do it all over again. Sometimes a good smoke is necessary.
“It’s Monday,” he reminds me what I already know. “Why’d you come here?”
Taking another hit, I don’t reply right away. “Come on Rogue, I know you. I know this shit runs deep.”
“Came for my usual,” I give him the truth.
He raises his eyebrows in question without speaking. I don’t discuss it, therefore, he doesn’t know what my usual routine for being here is.
“In the front display cooler, that wrapped bouquet of tiger lilies, bring that to me, would ya?”
He doesn’t question me any further and goes inside to retrieve my order. This is why I find the only peace in my life within this brotherhood. These men know me, the good, the bad, the ugly, and the damaged, yet they still accept me. It’s the only place I don’t feel judged by others. There is no stopping the judgement I do to myself.
Popping open my saddlebag, I slide the flowers in. “Gotta be somewhere,” I tell Creed. “I’ll be back in an hour or so.”
“You need me at your back?”
I smile knowing he means that shit. “Nah, brother, some things I gotta do alone. This is one of them.”
“If you’re goin’ where I think you’re goin’ not sure alone is the best thing.”
“Can’t kill someone already dead. I’m good.”
He studies me but doesn’t speak. He’s concerned. I get it.
“Gotta do this, don’t miss a Monday.” I explain.
He nods and backs away with his hands raised in surrender. “Shit changes and you wanna ride to clear your mind, one call I’m at your six, brother.”
Handing the last of my joint to him, I crank my bike again. No other words are necessary. I take off and make the drive another twenty minutes outside of town. This is a ride I can make in my damn sleep. In the beginning I came every day. I didn’t know what else to do. Without her, I’m empty. Parking, I get off the bike, grab the flowers and make my way to the black granite tombstone.