Page 53 of Vicious Cycle
“There’s more to it than that.”
Flashing her a grin, I replied, “But then if I tell you, I’d have to kill you.”
“After what I told you, I thought we had established more trust than that.”
“Fine. You want the gory details so you can have nightmares and never want to be in the same room with me ever again?”
Lowering her eyes, she replied, “Not really.”
“Then don’t fucking ask me questions like that because you won’t like the answers. All you need to know is he’s dead and will never be able to hurt anyone ever again.”
“How did he hurt you?” she asked, her dark eyes once again finding mine. They were so fucking hypnotic I could barely look away. She had to be doing some kind of hypnotizing hoodoo to make me talk as much as I had.
“He’s a waste of air to talk about.”
“I still want to know.”
I threw up my hands in defeat. “My old man was fucking evil incarnate. What the hell my mother ever saw in him, I’ll never know. Guess she thought she could change him, save him from what he was. But he only ended up taking her down with him. When I was two, he pushed her down a flight of stairs when she was eight months pregnant. Said he didn’t need another mouth to feed. Lucky for him, my sister was stillborn.”
Alexandra reached for my hand, but I jerked it away. Her expression saddened both at what I had said and probably how I reacted to her. “Your poor mother.”
“She tried leaving him a bunch of times. Before my grandparents kicked it, she stayed with them some, but they were both so old and sick that they weren’t any help to her against my dad. He’d threaten to kill them if she didn’t come home to him.” I shook my head, as my voice choked off with emotion. “She must’ve felt like a fucking trapped animal.”
“Tell me about her.”
“She was beautiful with long dark hair and dark eyes. Willow’s going to look just like her.”
“So you look like your mother?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
I tried to recall as much of my seven years with her as I could. “She smelled like apricots because she loved to wear this apricot lotion.”
A shaky laugh rumbled through me at one particular memory. “One time, she didn’t have the money to get any lotion. So being a scrappy five-year-old, I stole some off the shelf. I couldn’t understand why in the hell she dragged me back there. She made me give it to the store manager along with an apology. But then in her own patient way, she made me understand how wrong it was to steal. More than anything, she said she wanted me to be better than my father.”
Reaching in my pocket, I tugged out a pack of cigarettes and my lighter. Alexandra didn’t protest when I lit up. After a long drag, I said, “After all her hard work, she probably wouldn’t be too proud of me today.”
“You’re too hard on yourself.”
“And you’re obviously too naïve. What part of my world don’t you understand? I told you I killed my fucking father.”
“Why did you kill him, Deacon?” she repeated.
Although she had asked it before, it seemed to be addressed in a different way. She must’ve known how I felt perfectly justified in killing him, but she still wanted more. She wanted to make me dig up that emotional grave where I had long buried the reasons that drove me to murder the bastard who had fathered me when I was still practically a kid. After all, I was seemingly loyal, and the greatest breech of loyalty was killing your own blood.
Even though I should’ve ignored her question and stalked out of the room, I decided to give her what she was after. Then maybe she could once and for all know what an unimaginable bastard I was.
“Because he killed my mother! He tracked her down and tortured her like a fucking animal. He couldn’t just slit her throat or shoot her. No, he made her pay for running from him. He beat her until she died from internal bleeding and a fractured skull that sent bone fragments slicing into her brain.” Shaky hands brought the cigarette to my lips where I could take a drag. Sometimes late at night if things were too quiet, I could hear her screams…hear her begging for her life. Then finally her pleading formylife.
“Where were you when your mother was being killed?”
“Why do you have to have so many fucking questions? Are you some kind of morbid freak that gets off on shit like this? A masochist for emotional pain?”
Instead of cowering back at my verbal assault, Alex stood firm. “Where were you?” she repeated.
“Why do you need to know? What could you possibly get by fucking knowing?”
“It isn’t for me that I’m asking. It’s for you.”
