Too Late Page 22

  I guess they’re scared I’ll shoot them, too.

  I suppose I am a little worried about the repercussions and all that shit. Normally when a gun is fired, someone calls the cops. Which means they’re probably on their way here right now, thanks to a nosey goddamn neighbor.

  And I’m referring to the real cops. Not this poor excuse sitting in front of me right now.

  I’m disappointed this isn’t going down how I had planned. I shoot one guy out of self-defense and the rest of them just give up on their fucking duties and scram? That means Jon, Kevin, and Dalton are no longer being detained by them. Which means at least one of them is about to come beating on this door, wondering why the fuck I set them all up like I did.

  Which means...I’m kind of in a bind right now. I’m running out of options. I think the only option I really have left is to shoot Luke in his goddamn smug face and get Sloan out of here while I still can. Sure, she’s going to be a little traumatized. But we could go to therapy or something whenever we get settled again. She’s going to need it after being brainwashed like she was.

  It’s kind of sad that I’m only left with one option and I only have a minute or so to follow through with it, because I really wanted to hear Luke tell me what it was like when he fucked Sloan.

  Not because I would have been turned on by it. I’m not fucking morbid.

  I wanted to hear it, because I need the vision. I need to know what he said to her to make her fall for it. I need to know if he had to talk her into it like I did. I need to know if she made the same noises that she sometimes makes when she’s with me. I want to know what position he fucked her in. Was he on top? Was she? Was he behind her?

  I just need to know so I can make sure I don’t do or say any of the things he said to her when I make love to her in the future. I need to make sure I never fuck her in the same positions he fucked her in.

  But now I’m out of goddamn time, because someone is beating on the door and Luke still hasn’t opened his mouth.

  “Asa!”

  It’s Dalton.

  I’m still not sure what to think about Dalton. I really like him. He’s coke, everybody likes coke. But everyone knows cocaine is one of the most widely impersonated drugs there is. A whole hell of a lot of imposters. Dealers selling crushed up aspirin on street corners to half-dead crack addicts who can’t even tell the difference.

  Dalton may not even be cocaine. He’s probably a bottle of fucking Advil, crushed up and poured into a baggie.

  “Asa, open the door!” Dalton yells.

  I reach behind me and make sure the door is locked. “Where did everyone go?” I yell to Dalton. “It’s quiet out there!”

  “Open the door so we can talk.” He’s right on the other side of the door now.

  I laugh and repeat myself. “Where is everyone, Dalton? Where are Jon and Kevin?”

  “They left. They got paranoid and left.”

  Of course they did. Fucking best friends for life. Assholes.

  I look over at Sloan. She’s sitting at the head of the bed, her knees pulled up to her chest. She’s watching me, wide-eyed.

  Luke is watching me, too. It doesn’t matter where I’m standing or what I’m doing, his eyes are always fucking on me. Have been since the day I met him. The day Dalton introduced me to him.

  I tilt my head until my mouth is close to the crack in the door. “Why are you still here, Dalton? Waiting on your backup to arrive?”

  Dalton isn’t so quick to respond this time. After a pause, he says, “I’m here because my friend is in there. If you let him go, we’ll leave.”

  I can’t believe I fucking fell for this. Months of practically living with these fuckers and all they were here to do is destroy me.

  Kind of feels like my childhood all over again.

  At least Sloan loves me.

  At least.

  I drag my eyes across the room until they land on her. “Remember when I was in the shower earlier and you asked me if I wanted anything from the grocery store?”

  She nods, but barely.

  “I told you I wanted a dessert for the celebration. Did you get one?”

  She nods again. “Your favorite,” she whispers. “Coconut cake.”

  See? She fucking loves me.

  “Dalton,” I say, demanding his attention. Not that it ever left me.

  I should probably move over. He’s right on the other side of this door. Wouldn’t put it past the fucker to shoot me through it.

  I step against the wall and reach down to make sure the door is locked. “Do me a favor, will you? Bring us the coconut cake.”

  Again, Dalton pauses for a moment before responding. “You want cake?” he says, confused. “You fucking want cake?”

  Why does that sound so ridiculous?

  “Yes, I want cake! Bring us the fucking coconut cake, asshole!”

  I hear Dalton’s footsteps fade as he walks into the kitchen. Luke is staring at me like I’ve lost my mind.

  “You got a problem?”

  He shakes his head and opens his mouth to speak. Finally.

  “There’s medication that can help you, Asa.”

  Medication?

  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  Luke glances at Sloan and then back at me. I hate it when he looks at her. It makes me want to rip his fucking eyes out and swallow them like my mother’s yellow pills.

  “You’ve checked the lock on the door fifteen times in the last five minutes,” he says. “That isn’t normal behavior. But it can be controlled. Just like your father’s behavior could have been controlled.”

  This is where I cut the fucker off. “Talk about my father again, Luke. I dare you.”

  His eyes meet the gun that’s pointed straight at him now, but for some reason, he still doesn’t shut the fuck up.

  “Did you know he was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia when he was only twenty-seven? I read it in his file. He never took his meds, Asa, not even once. The things going on inside your head—they can stop. It can all stop. You don’t have to be like him.”

  I stride across the room and press the fucking gun to his head. “I’m not like him! I’m nothing like him!”

  Before I pull the trigger, Dalton beats on the door.

  “How am I supposed to give you the cake?” Dalton yells.

  Fuck. Good question.

  I start to walk to the door, but the anticipation of coconut cake is ripped from me when I hear sirens. The sound is far off—maybe four or five streets over.

  I still have time. If there was a fucking window in this bedroom, I could grab Sloan, shoot Luke, and be out the window and to the car before they get here.

  But mother-fucking Dalton is standing in my way.

  If he’s standing at the door holding a cake, that means he’s probably right...about...there.

  I aim my gun and as soon as I fire it, something hard meets my back. I fall forward, my knees hit the floor, and the gun flies out of my hands. I look behind me and Luke is standing over me, pulling his leg back to kick me in the face. I roll to the side and swipe my leg across the floor, knocking him off balance. He lands on his back.

  He immediately starts trying to pull his legs through his arms so his hands will be cuffed in front of him rather than behind him. I sit up and reach for my gun, but Sloan jumps off the bed and lunges across the floor. Our hands reach the gun at the same time, but mine are more experienced and know where to grab it to get the better grip. Her hands fumble around mine until she’s aware that the gun is firmly planted back in my hand. I shove her away from me, back in the goddamn corner.

  She hits the wall and scoots as far away from me as she can. By the time I get the gun pointed at Luke, the fucker somehow got his hands around to his front. He’s pulling himself to his feet, so I stay a step ahead and pull the fucking trigger. I watch as the flesh of his thigh explodes into tiny pieces.

  Fuck, that looks like it hurt.

  He’s on his knees.

>   His back slams against the wall. He’s wincing, pressing his hands against his wound. Dalton is beating on the door now. “Asa, open the fucking door or I’m shooting it open! Three...two...”

  “If you open that door, they’re both dead!” I yell.

  Dalton never makes it to one.

  I look at Sloan and she’s huddled against the wall, hands over her ears, tears pouring out of her eyes. She’s staring at Luke, looking like she’s about to flip the fuck out. I need to get her out of here before she does. But the sirens are closer now. More than likely on this street.

  Fuck.

  Think, Asa. Think.

  I smack my gun against my forehead three times. I can’t lose her. I can’t. If I’m arrested, I won’t be able to protect her. I won’t be able to touch her. She’ll fall for someone else’s lies. Maybe even Luke’s again.

  She’s the only person who has ever loved me. I can’t lose her. I can’t.

  I crawl over to her and try to grab her hands, but she keeps pulling away from me. I have to point the damn gun at her head just to get her to be still. I press my forehead to the side of her head. “Tell me you love me, Sloan.” She’s shaking so hard, she can’t even speak. “Please, baby. I need to hear you say it.”

  She tries three times to get her voice to work, but she keeps stuttering. Her lips are trembling harder than I’ve ever seen. She finally gets out one sentence. “Let Luke go and I’ll say it.”

  I squeeze my hand around the gun. I wrap my other hand in her hair and squeeze. She’s trying to fucking negotiate for him?

  I blow out a steady breath through my nostrils. My jaw is wound up too tight to let any air through my mouth. When I calm myself enough to speak, I grit my teeth and whisper, “You love me, right? You don’t love him. You love me.”

  I pull back and meet her petrified eyes. She lifts her chin and says, “I’ll answer that after you let him go. He needs a doctor, Asa.”

  A doctor? He doesn’t need a doctor. He needs a mother-fucking miracle.

  “I don’t need you to answer that,” I say to her. “I have a feeling if I kill him, I’ll be able to tell if you love him based on your reaction.”

  Her eyes widen and she immediately begins shaking her head. “I don’t,” she blurts out. “Please don’t kill him, it’ll make things worse for you. I love you, Asa. Please don’t kill anyone else.”

  I’m staring right at her, looking back and forth between her eyes. It’s hard to see any truth there, because all I see is the concern she has for Luke written across her face. “Don’t worry, Sloan. He’s probably wearing a bullet-proof vest.”

  I turn my head and lift my gun, aiming it straight at Luke’s chest. I fire the shot. Luke’s whole body jerks against the wall. His hands go to his chest just as the blood begins pouring through his fingers. He immediately falls limp onto his side.

  “Oh. My bad. I was wrong.”

  Sloan is screaming. Screaming his fucking name, screaming no, screaming what have you done, screaming his name again, screaming, screaming, screaming.

  She’s fucking screaming.

  She has fucking tears.

  For him.

  I grab her by the goddamn arms and pick her up, dropping her back down on the bed. I straddle her while she covers her head and screams even louder, the tears flooding down her face.

  “Why are you fucking screaming, Sloan? WHY!”

  I can hear my father’s voice repeating whore, whore, whore. I smack my forehead to get it to stop.

  Stop, stop, stop.

  She doesn’t love him. She loves me. Forever.

  “You don’t love him, Sloan,” I say, my face twisting in pain. “You don’t, he brainwashed you.” I grab her cheeks and press my lips to hers. She’s trying to pull away from me, trying to fight me.

  “Yes I do!” she screams. “I love him, I hate you, I love him, I fucking hate you!”

  She’s going to regret this. She’s going to regret this more than she’s ever regretted anything in her whole fucking worthless life. If she thinks she’s sad now watching that bastard die, wait until she sees me die.

  She barely knew the guy. She’s loved me for two fucking years! My death would fucking devastate her. She’ll be crying so hard, she won’t have enough air to say she hates anyone.

  Whore, whore, whore.

  I smack my hand against my forehead again and then I press my forehead to hers. She’s no longer screaming now. She’s just sobbing uncontrollably.

  “You’re going to regret this, Sloan. You think you’re crying hard now? When I die, it’ll fucking kill you. It. Will. Fucking. Kill. You.”

  She shakes her head back and forth, sobbing through her words. “It’s too late to kill me, Asa. You killed me a long fucking time ago.”

  She’s delusional.

  She’s goddamn delusional.

  I laugh, knowing how much this is going to upset her. I laugh, knowing how much she’s going to regret everything she just said to me. I wish I could be here to see it when she finally realizes how much I mean to her. How much I’ve done for her. What her life will be like without me.

  I press my mouth against her trembling lips.

  I press the gun to the side of my head and I pull the fucking—

  You know what they say dying feels like?

  No. You don’t know what they say, because no one says it. The people who die aren’t around to tell us what it felt like when it happened. The people who lived never died to begin with, so they’re unable to describe it.

  But I’m in it. So let me tell you about it while I still can.

  There’s a moment—a split second right before you close your eyes for the very last time—when you can actually feel yourself embracing death.

  You can feel your heart as it begins to slow down, preparing to come to a halt.

  You can feel your brain shutting off, the circuits slamming shut like doors.

  You can feel your eyes closing—no matter how fucking hard you try to keep them open. And you realize that whatever you’re looking at in the moment you close your eyes—that’s the last thing you’re ever going to see.

  I see Sloan. She’s all I see.

  I see her screaming.

  I see Asa pick her up and throw her on the bed.

  I see her trying to fight him off.

  I see her giving up.

  That’s why I refuse to close my eyes.

  I look down at the blood pouring from my chest—the life seeping out of me and onto the floor. I’ve made enough mistakes that caused Sloan to be in the position she’s in right now. I refuse to die without correcting a few of them.

  It takes everything in me—but I stretch my arms out until I’m able to reach the gun at my ankle. There’s blood all over my hands, so I struggle getting a grip on it, but finally manage. I may not be the best at my profession in a lot of areas, but I have one hell of an aim.

  Right when I lift my gun, Asa points his gun at himself.

  No fucking way is he getting off that easy.

  I refuse to close my eyes as I wrap my finger around the trigger and squeeze, watching as the bullet penetrates his wrist, sending his gun several feet across the room.

  I refuse to close my eyes when the sounds of three more shots penetrate my ears, this time coming from the direction of the bedroom door.

  I refuse to close my eyes as I watch Ryan kick open the door and rush in, followed by several other men.

  I refuse to close my eyes until Asa is on the floor—several feet away from Sloan—being handcuffed.

  I refuse to close my eyes until they meet Sloan’s.

  She’s off the bed, across the room, on her knees, pressing her hands to my chest, doing everything she can to keep the rest of the life from seeping out of me.

  I don’t even have enough energy left to tell her it’s too late.

  I close my eyes for the last time.

  But it’s okay, because she’s all I see.

  She’s the last thing I’ll ev
er see.

  This feeling is nothing new to me. I’ve experienced living through the death of someone I’ve loved before. Horrendous, heart-wrenching, soul-crushing death.

  It was one month before I turned thirteen.

  I had twin brothers, Stephen and Drew. From early on I basically became their caretaker. Both my brothers had a lot of medical issues, but my mother used to leave all hours of the night, regardless of their needs. She would go through spurts where she could be the mother she needed to be. She’d get them to their doctor’s visits for the medications they needed in order to convince the state she was a decent mother. But then she’d leave the majority of their everyday care up to me while she went out and partied or did whatever it was she did until the early hours of the morning.

  The night Drew died, my brothers were in my care. I can’t remember all the details because I try not to think about that night too much, but I remember hearing him fall in his bedroom. He had seizures frequently, and I knew he had more than likely just had a seizure, so I ran to his room to check on him.

  When I opened the door, he was on the floor, his whole body jerking from the seizure. I dropped to my knees and held him as still as I could, but since he had turned ten, it became increasingly difficult for me to help him due to the fact that he and Stephen were already bigger than me. I did my best, holding his head until it was over.

  It wasn’t until the seizure had stopped completely that I noticed the blood. It was all over my hands and on my clothes. I started to panic when I saw the gash on the side of his head. Blood was everywhere.

  When he had fallen from the seizure, he hit his head on the door hinge going down. We didn’t have a phone, so I was forced to leave him alone in the room while I ran to a neighbor’s house and called 9-1-1.

  By the time I returned, he was no longer breathing. I’m not sure he ever took another breath after the moment I left him. I wasn’t aware at the time that he had died from the blow to his head, but I realize now that he had probably died before I even dialed 9-1-1.

  I changed after that night. Before that moment, I still held on to a little hope for my life. I knew that no one could be cursed as a child with such awful parents, only to then go on to have an equally awful adolescence and adulthood. Until that point, I thought maybe everyone’s life had an equal balance of good and bad and the only difference was that the good and bad luck was dispersed to each person differently at different points in their lives. I had hope that all my bad luck had been dispersed early on in my life and that things would only get easier.