Delaine had done the most selfless thing any human being on the face of the earth could have asked of her. She had given up her own body, her own life … to save her dying mother.
She was a goddamn saint, and I had treated her like a sex slave.
Guilt like none that I had ever felt before started eating away at me. Because knowing what she’d done, and the reason she’d done it, broke my fucking heart.
13
I FEEL FROGGY
Noah
I left work early. I just couldn’t do it; I couldn’t sit there acting like everything was fine, conducting business as usual when what we were doing was anything but.
“Yo, Crawford.” Mason stopped me as I made my way toward the outer office door. “You heading out? What’s up?”
Yeah, I probably should’ve told my assistant something, right? Everything in my goddamn head was a jumbled mess and getting messier by the second. Un-fucking-usual.
“Just send my calls to my voice mail. I’m checking out for the day. And if anyone asks, you don’t know where I’m going.”
“But I don’t know where you’re going.”
“Exactly.”
I turned on my heel and continued on my way, ignoring Mason’s “Is everything okay?” No, everything was not okay. And no, I didn’t want to talk about it. I just wanted to wallow in my own guilt for a while and then figure a way out of this mess.
I knew there was only one place where I was ever going to get the peace and serenity I needed to sort this shit out, and I wasn’t going to let any Chatty Cathies delay me. Which meant I had to be rude, and I was … to several employees. But you know what? I didn’t give a good goddamn if they felt slighted because I didn’t smile politely when they asked how I was doing and give them a superficial “Fine, fine. And you?” I didn’t fucking care how they were, or that little Johnny had a snotty nose, or that Susie made the cheerleading squad, or even that Bob finally got that promotion. I didn’t fucking care.
I made my way out of the building and jumped into the first cab that answered my hail, because no way was I going to hitch a ride with Samuel. I didn’t want anyone to know where I was. Was it irresponsible of me not to tell someone? Probably, but again, I didn’t fucking care.
I flipped a fifty over the seat to the driver and said, “Sunset Memorial.”
“Sure thing. Say, aren’t you that Crawford kid?”
“Nope. Must have me confused with someone else.” I sighed as I sat back in the seat. Of course he knew I was full of shit. He’d just picked me up in front of the very same building “that Crawford kid” owned, for Christ’s sake. So it was his fault that I had to lie to him. He shouldn’t have asked such a stupid question.
Before long, the heavy traffic of downtown Chicago faded from view and the sun broke through the cloud-laden sky. It was odd to see the rays streaking down through the minuscule opening, especially when the clouds surrounding them looked like they were about to pour down rain at any second, but it soothed me a tiny bit when I followed the beams straight down to the place where I was headed.
The Crawford crypt.
Well, I suppose mausoleum was the correct term, but crypt just sounded better. Either way, it was the final resting place for the only two people who had ever really gotten me, who had loved me for who I was. And one of them was probably going to walk out of that thing to smack me in the back of the head for what I had become.
“You want me to wait?” the cabby asked when he stopped at the walkway at the bottom of the hill that led to my family’s burial ground.
“Nah. I’m good,” I answered.
“Are you sure? Looks like it could start raining anytime now.”
“All the better,” I mumbled, then stepped out. Torrential rain would match the way I felt on the inside perfectly, anyway.
“Well, I wouldn’t feel right leaving you out here by yourself without at least a little something to warm your bones,” the cabby said as he reached across the seat and handed me a brown paper bag with an unopened bottle of Jose Cuervo inside. My father’s favorite—how ironic.
“Thanks,” I said, handing him another fifty and taking the bottle.
I walked up the hill to the family crypt and took a seat on the marble bench across from the door. Then I took the bottle out of the bag, twisted the top off, and poured a healthy dose onto the ground. After all, how rude would it have been for me to drink it in front of the old man without offering him a sip?
“Cheers,” I said with a tilt of the bottle before I took a swig. It burned going down, and I winced, much like the very first time I’d swiped some from his liquor cabinet when I was thirteen. David had dared me to do it, and I didn’t want to look like a pussy, so I choked back the cough my body had fought to let loose, hoping David wouldn’t know I wasn’t as tough as I made myself out to be. Funny thing was that when David took his turn, he coughed the shit out of his nose. I could still see him pinching his nostrils together and whining for a good hour after it happened about how much it burned.
I had to let out a chuckle at the memory, and then I took another hard swig before looking down at the ground. Fuck David. And fuck me.
I still remembered the night I’d lost my parents. Of course I remembered it; I’d murdered them, so it wasn’t like I was ever going to be able to forget it. Maybe not by my own hand, but it was my fault nonetheless, and that made me a murderer.
David and I had been fucking off, as usual. Drunk out of our goddamn minds. I believe whiskey had been the culprit that night, and we were drinking that shit like it was water. The challenge? Who could drink a bottle faster—straight up, no chaser. We weren’t the least bit concerned about alcohol poisoning, didn’t give a fuck that we were graduating the next day and had to be up at the crack of dawn. And neither of us was in any shape to drive. My parents had been on their way home from a night out at the opera when I’d called them. I’d only meant for them to send our driver out to get me, but my father was furious, and my mom was worried. So they’d insisted on picking up David and me on their way home. They never made it. Some other drunk motherfucker who’d decided it would be a grand idea to get behind the wheel of a car instead of calling for his own goddamn ride that night hit my parents head-on. They were both dead at the scene, clutching each other’s hands lifelessly. I knew, because I’d walked up to the accident when I saw the flashing lights. They’d been only three blocks away.