penance. a love story (The Böhme Series) (26 page)

“Where’s Abby?” I asked, walking toward him.

“I took her home and I was waiting for you to leave
,” he said from his position on the floor under the mailboxes.

“Well, I’m leaving now, so you can go upstairs. Wynn isn’t taking me home
,” I said as I started to walk past him.

“I wasn’t waiting for Wynn,” h
e said as I turned back to meet his eyes. “I wanted to apologize for Abby earlier and your tattoo.” He pointed toward my wrist. “I’m not sure why she did that with the toast.”

I shrugged my shoulders, “No worries, I don’t think she and I will ever be best friends and I’m okay with that. She’s flaky
.” I slid down the wall and sat next to him on the floor.

“He likes you, you know?”
he asked and leaned his head back against the wall and turned to face me.

I took a deep breath and sighed, “I know. I like him too. That’s why I needed to leave.”

Blake nodded and I wondered how much Wynn shared of his story. Wynn said I was the second person, other than his doctor, he told most of that story to, but I can’t believe his best friend was clueless to it all. But Maggie was clueless to mine, so maybe it was possible. That or I was lying to myself. Maggie is smart, she probably knows.

“Did you have a good night?”
he asked.

“Yeah, I guess it was as good as it could have been today
.” I let my thoughts wander back to that day and I took Wynn’s advice and tried to make my thoughts my bitch. I thought them, and willed the feelings and thoughts to float away from me, drifting into the inevitable emptiness of space. It was a strange sensation, dismissing the pain. I turned my head toward Blake.

“Blake, I don’t like you. I mean, you’re cool to hang out with, but I don’t
like
you,” I said with a tilt of my head.

“I don’t
like
you either Hannah,” he said with a questioning tilt of his head.

“Will you take me home?” I asked without emotion.

His eyes met mine and he nodded. I stood up and walked toward the door. I remembered his jeep from the night we went out drinking and walked toward it. He unlocked the car and I pretended to not have my keys and asked if I could stay at his place until Maggie got home. He agreed and I discovered that he lived a few blocks away from me.

When we got into his apartment, I didn’t say a word. I pushed him against the wall and started to take his shirt off
him. He didn’t stop me at first. He didn’t say anything about not wanting to hurt his friend. He didn’t say a word about Abby and neither did I. I threw his shirt to the ground as he tried to unhook the straps of my overalls and he looked over me as if I weren’t real.

I pushed away from him and the intensity of his eyes to drop my overalls around my ankles. I stepped out of them and all that was left were my underwear and tank top. I started to kick my shoes off when Blake let out a deep breath.

“I can’t do this,” he said in a pained tone. “I can’t do this to Wynn.”

Damn it, why did he have to care? I needed empty callousness. I needed to lie back on his couch and have empty, meaningless sex so I can return to the safety of my own prison. Feelings hurt and I was beating the shit out of myself with them tonight. I needed Wynn to be gone from my life.

“Why not, Blake—aren’t you mad at Abby?” I asked with an angry tone. I tilted my head and began to raise my tank top in hopes of enticing him.

“I don’t care about
her, but I care about my friend,” he said as he pushed my hands down to lower my shirt. He put his own shirt back on and picked up my overalls.

“
He sees something in you Hannah. I don’t understand why you want to do this. I can’t understand half of the shit I see going on in your head or Wynn’s for that matter. But this shouldn't happen. You took me off guard at first, but I can’t do this. It’s all sorts of wrong.”

I leaned down to pick up my clothes. “That’s why I needed this Blake. I
need wrong
.” I hoped that my trying to seduce his friend would be enough to push Wynn away. Blake will say something. Why wouldn’t he? I'm not strong enough to push Wynn away, but maybe this is enough for him to pull away.

I left Blake’s apartment without another word of it. I was losing my mind and becoming crazier by the day. The stranger inside was erasing all memories of who I used to be. I was throwing myself at men in hopes that when they caught me and we separated, they would take the good parts of me with them. I wanted the bad parts to consume me. Every good part of me needed to be ripped from me.

I walked back to my apartment with far from silent thoughts. I wanted to shove a wedge between Wynn and me because I couldn’t stand having him give me his brooding, accepting eyes. God damn his brooding eyes and the hope they gave me. Maybe this will be the end and I fall back into the darkness of guilt. I thought of him pushing me away for what I did. How could he accept someone that would betray him like that?

It would have been all sorts of wrong, as Blake said. Part of me was thankful he was strong enough to decline my offer. Though, part of me was angry. My actions needed to destroy me and he stopped me from doing that.

I couldn’t do as my sister did and end it. I didn’t deserve a quick death. I needed to experience a walking death for what I did to her. Happiness was not a luxury I deserved after I killed her and her unborn child.

I sat back on my couch after Hannah left and stared at the thousands of distant streetlights out my window. I wanted more with her, but I meant it when I said I could be friends. If she wanted a friend, I would be that for her.

My cell phone rang a few minutes after she left and I answered it without checking the ID. “Yeah.”

“Hey Wynn, its Reynolds, we need you to get to Water Street ASAP.”

“Yeah, I can head on over there
.” I hung up and grabbed my bag and helmet before climbing out the window. When I turned to lock up, Blake’s jeep drove away with Hannah sitting in the passenger side with her head leaning against the window. I couldn’t see her expression, as her long hair covered her face.

I didn’t hold pain or disappointment in seeing her with him
—only anger. She didn’t owe me her loyalty. But Blake, that was another story.

I made it to the crime scene within twenty minutes. I drove fast and it had nothing to do with making it on time and more to do with the anger toward my friend. My muscles tensed as I weaved in and out of traffic. Visions of him with her, touching her, filled my mind and I tried like hell to push them away, but failed. I welcomed the distraction of work as I walked toward the alley where police placed their traditional “do not cross” line and
I tried to calm my nerves.

Once I heard the details of the scene from Reynolds, I learned the shitty end of the stick fell to me. The victim was a teenage boy and it was an assault. The kid was getting prepped to go to the hospital.

Hanging his head low his face hid behind his hands as the stretcher slid into the ambulance. The lights highlighted the bruises on his arms and neck. He lowered his hands, but kept his face down as he nodded in response to the paramedics questions. His conduct reminded me of a younger version of myself. What happened to him was going to haunt him for the rest of his days and my empathy for him was strong.

I was thankful another photographer was taking the photos of the boy at the hospital and the crime scene photos fell to me. I guess I didn’t get the shittiest end of the stick. I would rather be here than the hospital with the victim.

The two assailants ran away on foot when a mechanic around the corner towing a car heard the screams. The mechanic spoke to Reynolds with a grimness that aged him. I couldn’t imagine being the one to find this scene. Though, I have seen many, it’s never easy. But seeing it for the first time is earth-shattering.

There is a sick curiosity that comes with crime scenes. People stand with vacant expressions to watch, so they could say they were there. They tell their friends of other people's sorrow as if they were proud to have seen it firsthand. But tonight, they kept their distance. Even the officers’ heads hung low to avoid any looks back toward the spot where it happened. They were avoiding it as if getting close would attach the darkness of the event to them. They didn’t want to take that shit home and let it infect their loved ones.

When I approached the alley, my insides began to boil. Blood spattered the ground. It was hard to believe the kid was still alive and conscious. I tried to hide my shock from my face, but Reynolds saw. “I know, it’s bad, this l
ooks like the work of an animal,” Reynolds said as he knelt near the scene to examine blood droplets on the ground.

“He reminds me of myself
,” I said under my breath.

"This is so fucking bad
,” Reynolds said with quiet frustration. “These days remind me why I hate this fucking job."

I sighed before responding, “Uh, yeah, to say the least
,” I said trying to hide my own fear, and began to take photos. I had memories flash to my mind of my mother and the treatment she inflicted on me. She told me several times that I belonged to her and that she could do with me as she pleased.

For several years I believed her, and it took many years after her death for me to realize what little truth her statements held. My mind understood it. But the feelings and emotions attached to the history wouldn’t let me grasp the truth.
She was evil. I wasn’t to blame.
I repeated the words over in my mind as I took the photos. But the memories still came and I believed her, because of how much control she still had over me. I did belong to her.

My thoughts drifted to the memory of a girl I liked when I was six. My mother found out and after beating me, she left me to sit in my room. I couldn’t lie on my back because she covered
it and my butt with welts. I was looking at the full moon that night when she came into my room. She didn’t apologize as she never did, but she did remind me that what she did is what happens when I have feelings for girls. She told me the physical pain wouldn’t compare to the emotional pain of becoming involved with a girl. 

While she tormented me that night, she whispered in my ear that I was perfect and no one could love me as she did. What she didn't realize was that I didn't want to be loved
in her way then or now, so she got her wish.

I often wonder what made my mom the way she was. I assumed it was something in her childhood. She never spoke of my grandparents and I figured they were as bad to her as she was me. Her life growing up must have been hell. After they died, she went into the system and who knows what she faced there.

“We caught the assailants a couple blocks from here,” Reynolds said. “It was a man and a woman. How fucked is that? A fucking woman.” He scoffed and kicked a garbage can that was next to him. I jumped at the sound, but tried to hide the reaction as best I could.

“Yeah, it’s pretty fucked
,” I said and continued taking photos. On the ground was a hoodie resembling mine which made me more unsettled. I noticed officers were inspecting empty barrels and a dumpster.
Oh damn.

I couldn’t take my eyes off the rain barrels. They were the same blue, chemical ones my mother kept at our home. Despite her insanity she was practical. She used the barrels to store rain water for the dry summer months as she didn’t want to waste it and have to pay for city water during a drought. She cared more for the landscaping of our lawn than she did her son. She put on a good face for others but within the walls of our home
our own twisted story unfolded.

“Did you get shots of the barrels?” Reynolds
asked, breaking me from my memories.

“Nah, not yet, d
id you find something in there?” He nodded as we walked toward one of them.

“They
 put him in there,” Reynolds said as we both looked into the barrel and its blood stained walls. “They were going to leave him to die in it,” he said. I took photos of the inside of the barrel as bile rose into my throat. It wasn’t the blood that made me ill. It was looking inside that barrel. Looking into it was like looking into the life I once lived as a child.

“Strange
,” I said, dismissing Reynolds. My walls were dropping and memories filled me. Reynolds could not see my reaction. I could control it as long as I was silent. If someone tried to communicate with me or break me out of this moment, I was unsure how I would react. At normal times, I was good at keeping these memories compartmentalized, but speaking of it earlier with Hannah brought it to the forefront of my mind.

I took the rest of the photos needed and I finished an hour later. Another photographer showed up which helped ease my mind. I didn’t want my freak out moment to cost me my job. I gave him my memory card to process.
He was a newbie, so he could do the grunt work and deliver them to Reynolds. I had something else I needed to do.

As I walked to my bike, my thoughts went back to Hannah. I needed to hear what happened with Blake and I needed to end this tonight or begin it tonight. I couldn’t continue in the limbo I was
in for the last few weeks. I wasn't going to run away from her. I ran for too long.