“He’s alive?” Ilkay sounds both surprised and disappointed. I’m starting to wonder if all my brothers are undivulged lurking murderous psychopaths.
“For now. They are both in the car.”
“Both?” There’s a deep sigh on the other side of the line.
“Turns out there’s one more Grimm.” Again with the frickin strange look between them. “Long story.” I’m really confused.
“Point is,” Jackson continues, “Everyone is innocent.”
“Except Chloe,” Axel’s voice now drills into our truck. They must be on speaker too.
“Yeah, that bitch is guilty as shit,” Jackson snorts. “We’ll see you at the house. Cheers.”
It takes the radio a mere second to start up again after the call ends. Like magic.
‘I’m an angel with a shotgun
Fighting til’ the wars won
I don’t care if heaven won’t take me back
I’ll throw away my faith, babe, just to keep you safe
Don’t you know you’re everything I have?
(I’m an angel with a shotgun)
And I, want to live, not just survive, tonight
(Live, not just survive)’
I listen to the music without hearing it. The song reminds me of him. Hell, everything seems to remind me of him. At this moment I feel more like an angel that’s been shot WITH a shotgun. Right through the heart. I have no energy to fight and I’m barely surviving here.
‘And I’m gonna hide, hide, hide my wings tonight’
Memories flood through my mind with the words, each one a painful reminder that I miss him. Very much. But the weight of his betrayal is suffocating and heavy, as if my heart has been carved out leaving behind an unfillable void.
Innocent Jackson said. Damion must have spun a sop story not to get murdered. I saw the photos. I read the texts. Nothing innocent about any of it.
Tears flow freely, a river of sorrow down my cheeks. Then it dawns on me that he’s going to be there. My laughter bursts forth with a sad brilliance that fills the truck. He … is … going … to … be … there.
“You okay?” Enrique turns back to scrutinize me with worried eyes.
Eyes glistening with shed tears and unspoken sadness, I clutch my chest, fingers trembling, as if trying to keep my sudden racing heart from leaping out of my body.
“He’s going to be there.” I can’t stop grinning, even though my heart hammers against my rib cage. My panic escalates. I breathe in shallow gasps of air, my chest rising and falling rapidly as the fear threatens to suffocate me.
Enrique gawks at our brother in the driver’s seat. “I think that asshole broke her.”
I sob in short irregular breathes and wipe the tears and snot away with my sleeve.
“It’s the flu,” I say with a steady soggy voice.
“The flu is making you cry?” Ilkay looks at me through the rearview mirror with his big-brother expression, eyebrows pulled together. I bite my lip and nod.
The boys gape at each other and there’s that look again.
“What really happened between you and Damion while I was stuck in that freaking popsicle world where girls like to grow long body hair?” Enrique asks the million-dollar overly analyzed question. The one I’ve been dissecting in my mind over and over again hoping to find a different outcome.
I don’t want to talk about it, and he’s heard the story over the phone, but I guess it’s not the same as hearing it face to face.
“He cheated. With Chloe.” Enrique snorts.
“Chloe? Are you sure? Damion like hates that bitch.”
“There are messages!” I shout with a quivering voice. “And pictures!”
“What? Nude pics?” He laughs, but I don’t see the humor. He throws his phone onto my lap.
“I get like a zillion of them from girls … and boys … every fucking day – we all do. It’s a perk that comes with being famous.”
Anxiety grips me with a vice-like intensity as I scroll through his gallery with shaking hands. There must be hundreds of pictures of girls and boys in different stages of nakedness – only this week. My stomach churns with a nauseating mixture of disgust and apprehension.
I swallow back the burning puke that rises in my throat. This is plain sick. So it’s not only Chloe? He gets shots like that from horny humans across the world. Each jagged shard of my shattered heart cuts deeper with every beat … with every photo.
“She answered his phone while he was in the bathroom. And she was in his bed … in her underwear.” Enrique doesn’t say a word to this, but I can see that he’s thinking deeply. Yeah, chew on that.
“Anyway, I’ve decided to take a job in New York,” I break the news. Ilkay almost crashes the truck parking it while Enrique and Kiara both swear in shock.
“What?” I ask at their baffled expressions. “It seems like a nice city.” And it’s miles away from a certain cheating bastard. They don’t respond, but the air crackles with tension. Ilkay’s jaw tightens while Enrique’s eyes blaze with fiery indignation.
The earth seems to spin, a dizzying dance of lights and colors, as a nauseating feeling wraps its tendrils around my gut. My skin prickles with a clammy cold sweat while goosebumps spread over my body as I feel the now familiar burn in my tummy.
I slap my hand over my mouth, trying to hold it in, while I throw open the door. Just in time. Last night’s robot-bell-pepper-and-ham-pasta vomit lays cheerfully over the paved driveway of my uncle’s house. How very Christmassy?
The rancid turned sour taste mixes with that distinctive, smell-it-a-mile-off, odor and I puke again. Luckily, it momentarily distracts my brothers from the immediate conversation that threatens to get out of hand. But now I’m sitting with another problem.
“I need to pee,” I yell while running to the toilet under the stairs. Phew, made it. I sigh, there’s nothing that feels so good as urinating when you’re above maximum capacity.