Page 40 of His Curse

And there is not one goddamn thing I can do about any of it.

Better get back to work.

Hole isn't gonna repair itself, and this train of thought always proves to be destructive. Once I go down a line of thinking like this one, there isn't any turning back, and very few ways to get out. And it always makes that ache in my chest grow, bloom, and spread like weeds on a freshly watered lawn.

These thoughts take me to a place I don't want to be but am forced to live with all the same.

With a grunt, I yank the split plywood off my roof, chuck it over the side of the house then grab another, but just when I get it lined up then get myself in position to start nailing it down, the pain in my body amplifies to about a million and I wince in pain.

"Goddamnit.” I roll and rub my shoulder, trying to work through the insane pulsating, the almost excruciating burn as it races down my arm.

My nail gun hits the roof with a thud as I lose my footing, unintentionally planting on my ass from the way my stomach twists and causes me to wretch, but going down like that was a huge mistake because that hurts too, and when I'm about to seriously consider dropping through the hole in my roof to lay down for a bit, my gut suddenly rumbles like I haven't eaten in years.

Jesus.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

This is way more than sleeping in a fucked up position at Zan's last night, way more than everything else we did. Definitely way more than walking through the woods almost naked for hours and hours before that.

I don't actually know what this is, but whatever is going on with me is definitely not from any of that, and I'm beginning to think it has something to do with theother. It shouldn't, I just got back from dealing with him so I should be straight for a while, but this is too strange, too weighted, to merely be some physiological response to my normal shit.

Deciding to at least drink a little water, I gingerly climb back down the ladder, grab the jug and tip it back, then immediately dump it all over my face when my phone starts screamingWhere My Dogs Atby DMX.

Ronny's ringtone.

By the time I'm done drowning myself, and over the initial shock of my nephew actually calling me when I thought he’d never talk to me again, I snatch my phone just as it quits ringing but not without rapid fire text messages coming through.

RONNY: Where are you??

RONNY: Pick up your phone.

RONNY: Dude, Colt, for real. Answer your phone.

RONNY: 9-1-1 man.

RONNY: I've got a situation on my hands. A serious one.

RONNY: Headed to Zan's because I can't bring this problem to Vok's but Kady is sitting with the twins so they're on their way.

RONNY: Colton!

RONNY: This shit is bad, man.

RONNY: What the fuck!

ME: On my way.

RONNY: Thank fuck! Jesus, I thought you were giving me the cold shoulder or some shit. And even if you are, now isn't the time. I need you, Colt. I'm at a fucking loss.

Ishove my phone in my pocket and don't even bother putting on my shirt, just run to my bike, start it up, and take off toward Zan's place.

* * *

Ronny is outside waiting when I pull up like a bat out of hell fifteen minutes later, and when I see that he's covered in fucking blood, I almost shit.

"What happened?" I bark, dismounting and dropping my bike to the ground, before I race up to my nephew and start checking for injuries. "Were you attacked? Who did this?"

Ronny leans back and swats at my hands with a huff. “I’m fine. It isn't my blood."

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