Page 49 of The Chemist

He had never relied on his mother for anything before in his life, but he couldn’t understand why his mother was choosing to believe this man over her own flesh and blood. He was her son, for fuck’s sake!

“Please!” Diesel shouted one last time.

His mother just stared back at him with those dead eyes of hers, clutching his stepbrother in her arms.

“I’m sorry, son, but you need to take responsibility for your actions. You’re out of control.”

That lying bitch!

How could his mother betray him like this?

Staring into his mother’s eyes, he realized that he never really had his mother’s love. Even when he was younger, she never gave a shit about him or his well-being. So why should this be any different?

It was in that moment that Diesel finally realized one hard truth: he was all alone.

He had no one.

Then his sadness turned to anger.

Never again.

Never again would he be weak.

Never again would he be vulnerable and powerless.

Never again would he give power over himself to anyone else.

Never again would he trust anyone.

It was with that final thought his mind drifted back to the present. The promise he had made to himself all those years ago. The promise that kept him safe. Kept him protected. Kept him…

The cool night air brushed his face, reminding him of the promise he’d made to another man. A promise that he would try and pull himself together. A promise that, if he intended to keep, should not involve getting shit-faced alone on a rooftop.

While he might be breaking one of his own promises to himself—never again would he give power over himself to anyone else—Matteo was someone worth breaking his own promises for.

Placing the cap back on the bottle of whiskey, Diesel stood up and stretched out his back.

Fuck, he was getting old.Five more years, and he’d be thirty.

How many more years did he have before his balls began to sag and his boners became less…stiff?

With that sad question in mind, he climbed down the side of the house and stepped back through his bedroom window.

19

DIESEL

The world around him was dark and black. Well, not black per se, more like a very dark tint of see-through black… Dark, but not so dark that he couldn’t see the world around him.

Tilting his head upward, he stared at the stucco ceiling and wondered if the doctor had it placed on the ceiling herself or if the ceiling came with the bubbly design when she purchased the place. Did she buy the place? Or was she renting?

What are you going on about, you whack job?Perhaps Matteo was right, and you really did need to come see this head doctor,that pain-in-the-ass voice said to him.

He hated that voice. That voice was no fun and always tried to think with his conscience.

“Jiminy. He’s your Jiminy Cricket,” Zero had called it once. His conscience.

Whatever. His conscience was dumb.

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